


When the Bough Breaks

by captainshakespear, deanisthesun (become_normal)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Community: deancasbigbang, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, Entrapment, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Kid Fic, M/M, Marriage, Mechanic Dean, Professor Castiel, Sexual Content, seriously it's okay I promise we don't put you through this for nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:05:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 73,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4978297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainshakespear/pseuds/captainshakespear, https://archiveofourown.org/users/become_normal/pseuds/deanisthesun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after the Darkness has been defeated, Dean and Cas are living the apple pie life in small-town Kansas. They don’t hunt anymore, and would like to keep it that way, but some young hunters knocking at their door have different plans.</p>
<p>Dean, Cas and Sam reluctantly agree to help out, but what ought to be a simple case becomes way more complicated and dangerous than they counted on. And when the hunt starts to invade the normal lives they've carved out for themselves and their kids, Dean and Cas begin to wonder if escaping the hunting life altogether might have been wishful thinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to our DCBB! 
> 
> (very minor spoilers) We should warn you in advance that there is a point when things seem ... pretty grim at one point, but we promise that there is a very happy ending to this fic, so please don't hate us too much.
> 
> A thousand thanks to our amazing beta readers, [clockworkrobots](http://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots) and [mishcollin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mishcollin), for putting up with and helping to correct all the dumb typos and style inconsistencies. You guys are awesome.
> 
> Further billions of thanks to our fabulous artist, [glossostiel](http://glossostiel.tumblr.com), for the gorgeous art she did for our fic, and for all her awesome feedback on the fic itself. You rock. ♥ [The art masterpost can be found here.](http://glossostiel.tumblr.com/post/131016893521/when-the-bough-breaks-dcbb-15-art-masterpost)
> 
> There is also [an inspiration blog for this fic here](http://mythologicallydomestic.tumblr.com/), and [a pinterest board here](https://www.pinterest.com/vittoriarosa/dean-and-castiels-urban-farmhouse/), mostly for cute pictures of babies and Dean and Cas' house.
> 
> Shout out to all the squad as well; you all know who you are. You guys constantly make our day, we're lucky to have you.
> 
> And finally, thank you to you guys for joining us by reading this fic! Enjoy!
> 
> ~ Michelle and Victoria

 

_"Happy in beauty, life, and love, and everything; A song of love, too sweet for earthly lyres."_

October, 2023

Dean wakes up the same way he has every day for the past five-or-so years: warm and safe in his own bed, secure in the knowledge that his family is warm and safe in their own beds too.

Getting _out_ of that bed proves to be difficult, however, with the way Cas is lying half on top of him, one leg curled around one of Dean’s, his face pressed into Dean’s shoulder. Dean has had a lot of practice extricating himself from this kind of situation, though.

Eight years of practice.

First, he untangles his limbs from Cas' and rolls off the mattress, laughing tiredly at the sight of his husband burrowing into the warm space Dean just vacated and pulling the blankets more tightly around himself to hide from the rays of sunlight streaming through the curtains. Then, smiling, Dean leans back down to press a kiss into the mess of dark hair still poking through from the nest of covers, before turning to leave Cas alone for the moment. Trying to get him up before the coffee is on is hopeless most days. That, he’ll deal with later.

The en-suite bathroom is his first stop, where he showers, shaves and brushes his teeth, yawning throughout the process. He tries not to examine the lines at the corners of his eyes too much, growing more evident every day. Cas says he likes them, anyway.

The alarm is still playing rock music quietly from Dean’s bedside table when he re-emerges, but Dean takes caution to be somewhat quiet anyway. He pads over to the dresser to pull out a pair of jeans and socks, and after stumbling slightly in getting into those—his balance has not increased with age—grabs a t-shirt from the laundry basket by the door and pulls it on, something Cas will undoubtedly chastise him for later.

Dean throws one last fond look over his shoulder at the sleeping lump of blankets before exiting the bedroom.  The old hinges on the wooden door creak as he closes it behind him. They always have, no matter how much WD-40 he’s used on them over the years.  It’s just one of the “charms” of living in an old farmhouse.  At least, Cas would call it a charm.  Dean just calls it the stupid door.

Now that both he and his husband are taken care of for the moment, Dean turns his attention to the other members of his small family: his kids, likely already awake behind each of their doors.

He reaches Mary’s room first, light from the hallway rushing in ahead of him as he inches the door open and peeks his head through to look at his still-sleeping daughter.

She’s tucked under two blankets, pulled right up to her chin and the stuffed monkey that Sam bought her last year is poking out from under the covers beside her. Mary’s eyelids flutter and squeeze shut as he moves to sit down on the side of her bed gently, just close enough to lean down and press a soft kiss to her forehead.  

As her eyes blink open slowly, Dean reaches a hand up to brush one lock of light brown hair away from her face. “Hey, baby girl.”

From one second to the next, Mary’s face goes from sleepy and confused to awake and happy, smiling up at him with adoration. That look never fails to make his heart skip a beat, even if it’s a sight he’s greeted with every single morning.

“Morning, daddy!” Mary greets, using Dean as a brace as she pulls herself into a sitting position, swinging her legs off the side of the bed beside him. Then, using the grip she still has on the collar of Dean’s shirt, she pulls harder until Dean gets the hint and wraps his arms around her small frame, standing up with her held against his chest.  Her legs dangle farther and farther down each day, it feels, and he reminds himself not to get choked up when he thinks about how much she’s grown in not even six years.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, readjusting her in his arms.  Either she’s getting heavier, or he needs to hit the gym in town more often—probably both.

“Mm hmm,” she replies with a nod, still grinning.

“Good.” Dean nods in approval, planting one more kiss on her cheek before she starts to squirm and he has to let her down.  “Do you need help picking out clothes for school today?”

Mary shakes her head emphatically at him, running over to the dresser. “No, I can do it!” she announces proudly.  

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, well, I won’t interrupt your creative process, then.”

“Good,” his daughter says approvingly, making Dean chuckle.

“I’ll meet you downstairs, okay?” he says on his way out the door, closing it behind him.

Robbie’s room is next, and when Dean steps through the door, he’s pleased to see his son is already awake, blue eyes trained on the door, grinning wide the moment Dean comes into view.

“Hi, daddy.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he replies. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah!” Robbie exclaims.  Dean is an early riser himself, yet he still thinks it’s not fair, how much energy his kids have at barely 7:00 in the morning.

“Good, then it’s time to get dressed.” He rotates his shoulders a bit, stretching before he goes to lift Robbie out of his bed.  There’s a bed rail along the side of it to keep him from rolling over and falling out like he used to sometimes.  Every time Dean heard a thud followed by loud crying down the hall, his heart nearly stopped, even though thankfully Robbie was only ever in tears from the shock, never from hurting himself.  Still, everyone sleeps much more soundly now that it’s no longer a worry.

Before he can get his arms around his son, though, Robbie declares, “I’m already dressed!” and scrambles to the opposite side of the bed, giggling and clutching his covers around himself.

Dean lifts an eyebrow at him.  Robbie is not allowed to pull the same shit as Cas does in the mornings when he’s only three-and-a-half. “Oh really.”

“Yeah!”

“Then I guess you won’t mind showing me.”

“Yeah!” Robbie repeats nonsensically, giggling some more.

Dean sighs. “Come on, little man,” he says, planting a knee on the mattress so he can reach over and pluck Robbie off the bed.  His kid is still squealing and squirming and tangled in blankets and stuffed animals as Dean lifts him into his arms. “Maybe one day it’ll be pajama day at daycare, but it ain’t today, buddy.  Gotta put some real pants on.”

“It is pajama day,” Robbie tells him, consonants slightly garbled with his signature toddler speak.

“Sadly, it isn’t.”

“It is!”

“Believe me, I wish it were pajama day too, bud.”

Robbie grins at him, so widely and infectiously that Dean has to remind himself not to break out smiling as well, or he’ll never get out of this conversation. His son may be disarmingly cute, but you can’t show weakness around little kids. “We all wear pajamas!” Robbie says.

“I wish.” Not seeing an easy out with the way this conversation is going, and considering how toddler logic works, Dean switches tactics. “How about this: you wear real clothes all week at daycare, and on Saturday, we’ll have a pajama day at home. That sound good?”

Robbie considers this seriously for a moment, still seated in Dean’s arms, his finger tapping at his lips pensively.  Finally, he nods.  “Okay.”

“Awesome.  Your papa will be thrilled.”  Dean sighs with relief, today’s edition of ‘Robbie wants to play, not get ready for preschool’ finally over.

Robbie frowns at him.  “Daddy, what’s ‘thrilled’?”

“Happy, Robbie.  Now come on, what t-shirt do you wanna wear today?”

Once dressed, Dean lets Robbie lead the way downstairs—it’s slow going, one precarious step at a time, Robbie clinging to the railing, but Dean’s patient.  In the living room at the bottom of the stairs, Mary is already seated on the couch, having turned on the TV to one of her favourite shows about colourful singing and dancing animals.  Robbie scampers over and scales the couch too, Dean only having to give him a bit of a boost.

“What’s for breakfast, guys?” Dean asks, hands on his hips.

“Toast!” Mary says.  “With peanut butter.”

“No, jam!” Robbie whines at her.

“How about toast with peanut butter _and_ jam?” Dean proposes.  Both his kids look at him like he’s crazy.  “Or peanut butter for Mary, jam for Robbie.  I think I can manage.”

He wanders over to the kitchen to fulfill the breakfast request, as well as get some for himself.  Bread out of the freezer, two slices into the toaster, piece of cake.  Most importantly, he gets the coffee going so that he’ll have at least some hope of rousing his husband from sleep this morning.

He takes in the sight of their house as he waits. They found it—and fell in love with it—seven years ago, back when he, Sam and Cas were all still living in the bunker but barely hunting anymore; certainly not enough to justify living full-time in an underground bunker full of resources for a job they were no longer doing. The place was definitely renovated before they moved in—a garage had been added, thank God—but still manages to resemble a traditional-looking farmhouse in all the ways that count. Namely, the white paneling, blue shutters, and a wrap-around porch, plus a few additions that make it all feel more homey and personalized. The comfy porch swing is excellent for lounging the day away in with a book and a cold beer.

Inside, there are exposed wooden beams along the ceiling in some places, and the floors are wooden and creaky, but Cas loves the character so Dean’s never been allowed to redo them. The walls were originally either painted boring, off-white, or deep olive green and orange tones that looked like they’d been inspired by vomit. Some walls even had floral wallpaper, and just remembering that makes Dean shudder.  Thankfully, the three of them were restless and had a lot of free time on their hands what with hunting less and less. So even though Cas pouted about tearing all the wallpaper down—Dean’s fine with _character_ but he’s gotta draw the line somewhere—within a few weeks, the interior of the farmhouse was repainted much more to both his and Dean’s tastes.

Now of course, those walls are decorated with artwork they’ve found over the years—the frames are handy to cover up protective sigils, anyway—and family pictures they’ve gotten framed. A lot of the furniture is second hand or DIY, one of Dean’s favourite weekend pastimes, and there are a laughable amount of plaid textiles and cushions.

All in all, it’s cozy. Homey, even. Dean likes the paint colours and the wooden furniture and the fancy-ass curtains and all the couches and lounge chairs they have around for napping—they were very handy when Mary and Robbie still napped every day, since Dean or Cas could just curl up with them in the nearest armchair and catch a bit of shut-eye themselves. Dean rubs at his eyes a little blearily. Early mornings are fine and all, but he does miss naps.

The toast pops up with a light clicking sound, jarring him from his thoughts, so he grabs two plates from the cupboard and places one slice of toast on each, replacing two more pieces of bread into the toaster for himself.  Peanut butter on one slice for Mary, and jam on the other for Robbie.  They both absolutely refuse to eat anything with the other.  Dean finds it adorable.  He supposes Robbie does have the advantage of getting to eat Cas' awesome homemade jam, but then, Mary’s the one who likes the peanut butter cookies Dean bakes.  So it balances out.

“Toast is served!” he calls down the hallway.  Seconds later, the house is filled with the sounds of small feet scampering and stomping towards the kitchen, his kids basically racing each other to the table.  Mary clambers onto her chair while Dean lifts Robbie into the booster seat on his, trying to conceal his smile at their contagious enthusiasm.

Backtracking slightly to grab the plates from the counter, Dean places the toast with jam in front of Mary and the one with peanut butter in front of Robbie, barely having to wait a second for them both to shout “Hey!” indignantly.  Dean laughs and switches the plates around.  “Just teasing,” he murmurs, getting them each a cup of milk to go with the meal.

“Thank you daddy,” they both pipe up before digging in.

He listens to them munch away at their breakfast while he waits for his own bread to toast. In the meantime he pours himself a glass of orange juice, downing it in a few gulps as he checks on the coffee pot.  

He tries to eat healthier now.   _Not_ because he likes it, but because it sets a good example for Mary and Robbie, and Dean’s kids are gonna be happy and healthy for as long as possible, whether they like it or not.  And, he supposes, now that he’s not looking at every day like it’s his last, he’d actually like to stick around for a while.  If that means a few more pieces of fruit and a few less pieces of bacon, so be it.

Mind you, he’s still not giving up pie. Especially not the ones that Cas makes with fruit from his garden in their backyard. Yeah. Cas is the enabler here, anyway.

His own toast pops up. Dean spreads a scoop of raspberry jam onto both pieces, taking a bite immediately.  That jam is damn good, and he’s starving.

Propped up against the counter, Dean absent-mindedly eats breakfast, taking in the sight of his kids. _His kids_ , sitting at the kitchen table that Dean built himself, bathed in early-morning sunlight shining through the windows, faces and tiny fingers getting sticky with peanut butter and jam.

Dean hasn’t quite gotten to the point where he can look at all this without thinking he doesn’t deserve any of it, wondering when the other shoe is gonna drop. But he’s much better at just accepting that being this happy is a part of his life now, and that’s probably not gonna change.

In the meantime, there’s still one thing missing from this otherwise-perfect image: _Cas_.

Right on cue, the coffee machine beeps.  Licking the jam off his fingers, Dean grabs two mugs and fills them with coffee.  With practiced motions he pours just a bit of cream into his own, mixes it and takes a few gulps before stirring two spoonfuls of sugar into Cas'.

“How you doin’, munchkins?” Dean calls, walking back over to the table, coffee in hand.

Mary grins up at him.  “I’m done.”

“Me too,” Robbie adds.  He isn’t, but he shoves the last bit of toast in his mouth all at once, not to be outdone.  Most of the toast and jam ends up smeared on his face.

“Nice going, but I think your sister wins, both in speed and in not getting more toast on your face than in your mouth,” Dean laughs, fetching a damp washcloth from the sink to wipe off Robbie’s sticky face and fingers with, getting Mary’s hands while he’s at it.

“Daddy, can I have a peanut butter sandwich for lunch?” Mary asks.

“Sure thing, darlin’,” Dean replies. Makes his life easier, seeing as all two ingredients are already out.  “Now, you kids hold down the fort and watch some cartoons while I wake up your papa, okay?”

They both nod, retreating to the living room as soon as Dean has helped Robbie to the ground.

Dean heads back upstairs, pushes open the door to their bedroom to behold Cas still sprawled out in the middle of the bed, looking dead to the world.  He figures most couples probably don’t do this, one of them patiently waking the other up every single morning with coffee and kisses. But Dean spent about seven years knowing Cas and _not_ doing this, so he’s not wasting any more time.  

Besides, it’s not like kissing Cas is _entirely_ selfless.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Dean says brightly, perching himself on the side of the bed and running his fingers through Cas' unruly hair.

Cas yawns, nuzzles his scruffy cheek into their pillows and blinks his sleepy blue eyes up at Dean expectantly.

“Did you bring me coffee,” Cas mumbles, his voice even lower and rougher than usual.

“No, it’s downstairs.”

“You mean I have to _get out of bed_ and go get it myself?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Cas groans, reaches blindly for a pillow to pull over his head, and whines indignantly, “I rebelled for _this_?”

Dean barks a laugh at that and then rolls his eyes, leaning down to press a couple kisses to Cas' still-exposed shoulder. “Come on, grumpy, up and at ‘em. You wanna see your kids before I take ‘em to school or not?”

“Fine,” Cas sighs dramatically, untangling himself from his cocoon. “Coffee and kids; you make a persuasive argument.”

Dean bends to kiss him on the mouth in reward. “That’s more like it.  See you downstairs.” For all of Cas' whining, not once has he missed getting up in time to greet Mary and Robbie before Dean drives them to school on his way to work, not even when he’s been sick.

Back downstairs, Dean puts Mary and Robbie’s lunch boxes together.  He’s just finishing off the last sip of his coffee, grabbing a couple apples from the fridge to slice up, when Cas appears through the kitchen threshold.  His hair is still in disarray, but Dean likes it like that.

“Welcome to the world of the living,” Dean says, passing his husband his coffee.

“Mmm,” comes Cas' articulated reply into the mug.

“Didn’t expect you downstairs so soon. Don’t you need to shower?” he asks, noting that Cas is still in pajamas.

Cas shakes his hand, still blinking drowsily. “My first and only class today isn’t till 9:30; I’ll get ready once you’re on your way.”

“Okay, but don’t let Robbie see you. He was giving me hell earlier when I made _him_ put on clothes.” Of course, right then he hears little feet stomping down the hallway towards them. “I spoke too soon.”

“I’ll handle it,” Cas says, taking a long sip of coffee before putting his mug on the counter and crouching down to kid-height.

“Good morning, papa!” Mary greets, running straight into Cas' arms.

Cas rocks back a bit with the impact, but quickly recovers to plant a kiss on Mary’s cheek. The sight makes Dean’s heart swell.  “Good morning, Mary. Did you have good dreams?”

“Yes,” she replies emphatically.

“Good.” He positions her at arm’s length to look at her head to toe. “I believe you must have grown since yesterday, I don’t remember my daughter being so big.”

Mary’s face lights up the way it does when she has an idea. “We can measure!”

“We just measured you last week, darlin’,” Dean reminds her.

“But papa says I growed since yesterday, daddy.”  

Dean throws up his hands. Hard to argue that logic.

He slices up the apples for lunches while their daughter tugs Cas over to the kitchen threshold.  The empty door frame there has small lines drawn in marker—blue for Mary, red for Robbie—climbing up the sides.  Each one has the respective kid’s name beside it in Cas' neat script, along with the date and height measurement.

As Mary stands up along the wall, Robbie makes his way in, immediately shouting, “Hey, why can papa have pajamas?” with all the rage of a three-year-old who’s been lied to.

“Sorry, Robbie,” Cas says, abandoning his marker in favour of picking up his son. “I was just so excited to see you, I couldn’t bother getting dressed first, but I will soon.”

“Smooth,” Dean mutters, winking at Cas.

“Daddy says we wear pajamas on the weekend,” Robbie announces.

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Cas replies, putting Robbie down, but not before kissing his cheek and tilting his head for Robbie to press his lips to Cas' cheek in return. “Now, Mary, let’s see how much you’ve grown.”

Mary bounces up and down against the door frame. Cas stills her with a hand on her shoulder, marking her height with the other.

“I wanna measure!” Robbie says, shuffling Mary out of the way and standing against the wall next. Cas dutifully marks his height as well.

“Hmm, I don’t think either of you have _quite_ grown enough to require me to get the measuring tape,” Cas tells them.  Both marks essentially overlap the ones from last week. “But I know better than measuring tapes, and I think you’re both bigger.”

“Don’t encourage them, babe, they’re already growing like weeds,” Dean protests, smiling.

“Hmm. Speaking of weeds, I need help with watering the plants this afternoon. I wonder if anyone here would be willing to help me …”

Both Mary and Robbie shout “Me!” simultaneously.

Cas chuckles. “Alright, both of you. But for now, you should both go brush your teeth and finish getting ready for school.”  While Mary and Robbie head for the stairs, Cas turns back to Dean. “Would you rather lunch or teeth-brushing duty?”

“Teeth. You finish this.” He passes Cas the apples, pecking his cheek affectionately before heading over to help Robbie up the stairs.

Once their teeth are brushed and lunches packed, Dean lets Cas keep the kids company and help them put on their shoes while he runs around making sure he’s got everything for work.

At the front door, Cas kneels down again and scoops both kids into his arms for a hug at once.

“I love you both. Have fun at school,” he tells them.

“Okay, papa!”

“Have fun at work too, papa,” Mary says.

Cas grins at Dean as he stands.  “I will try.” Dean knows Cas loves his job teaching physics at the nearby college, but hates the marking that comes along with it, especially going into midterm season as he is right now.  Dean sometimes takes pity on him and helps with the multiple choice—that, or Cas bribes him with fresh-baked pastries.  Anyway, his job at the garage he now co-owns does generally mean more hours, but less homework, which suits him just fine. Home time is for his family and nothing else.

“I don’t know what the schedule’s like today; you might have to pick up the kids if I call.”

“That’s fine.  I should be home this afternoon,” Cas says.

“Don’t get up to too much trouble home alone.”

“Perhaps I’ll actually feed our cats since you won’t be around to stop me.”

“Cas, for the last time, those are not our cats.”  Well, they’re not.  They’re probably just from the surrounding farms, but Dean doesn’t want them in the house, period.  Not that this has stopped Cas from doing everything else to keep them around.

Dean had warned him the first time the two mangy cats wandered into their backyard. “If you feed them they’re gonna come back.”

Cas had rolled his eyes. “That’s the point, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes now. “I know I can’t stop you from feeding them, but they are still not allowed inside.”

“Noted,” Cas says with a shrug. Dean thinks they would really have problems if he weren’t so head-over-heels for the guy.

“Before I go, you need anything?” Dean asks him, grabbing his car keys off their hook.

“Just you,” Cas responds, the same way he does every time Dean asks that question, the sap. There’s a sly smile on his face that Dean has no choice but to kiss away, even as Mary yells “Ew!” from below them.

Dean pulls away laughing, kissing Cas again just to embarrass their daughter some more.  “I’ll see you later.”

“Mmm. I love you.”

It’s something Dean hears from Cas every day. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the rush he gets from hearing those words, though.  Or returning them.  “Love you too.”

The Impala has been retrofitted with as many safety features as Dean could manage to squeeze in since there’ve been kids around, but it’s still his same old, reliable car. Just with two kids’ car seats in the back—seats he now straps Mary and Robbie into, before turning the ignition, pushing play on one of his Beatles CDs, and driving off down the lane towards the main road.

In the rear-view mirror are his two beautiful kids, and further through the back window, he can see their white-panelled farmhouse—their home—recede into the distance.  And yeah, Dean thinks, it’s not what he expected out of life, or what he would ever in a million years have let himself hope for.  But somehow, this is all his, and life can’t really get much better.

* * *

_July, 2016_

_“So, I’ve been thinking,” Sam begins.  Dean hears him but doesn’t feel the need to raise his head from where it’s craned back slightly to lean against the exterior wall of the farmhouse._

_The weather is perfect for a midsummer evening, hot and humid but just enough of a cool breeze to make it comfortable.  While Charlie and Cas are facing off in Mario Kart indoors, Sam and Dean decided to take advantage of the outdoors and are sitting in wooden chairs on the front porch, a cold beer cracked open next to each of them._

_“Are you ever not?” Dean counters._

_Sam snorts. “One of us has to.”_

_“Hey.”_

_“Seriously, dude,” Sam insists, with a tone that actually makes Dean crack open an eye and sit up in his seat._

_“All right,” he says, taking a sip of his drink to clear his throat. “I’ll bite. About what?”_

_His brother takes a deep breath as if preparing himself for something big.  He now has Dean’s attention for real.  Finally, he says, “About … going back to school.”_

_Before Dean can get a word in, Sam rushes to explain._

_“It’s just, now that we’re not hunting as much, and things are sort of settling down for the first time in … forever, I thought maybe it’d be a good time to at least look into it?  I mean, better late than never, right?  And I wouldn’t go too far away, and it’s not that I don’t love this place too, but … it kind of feels more like yours and Cas' than mine?” He seems to say those words carefully, as if he feels like Dean might object or get defensive on the subject._

_Again, Dean opens his mouth to speak but gets cut off.  “Plus, it would just be part time.  At least for now, while everything’s still getting settled and …” His words halt suddenly as though he’s realized how long he’s been talking.  “Well.  What do you think?”_

_Dean pretends to consider it for a moment just because it’s fun to watch Sam get progressively more fidgety.  Then he smiles, leaning back and balancing his chair on two legs.  “Do you honestly think I’d say no?”_

_Sam half-shrugs.  “I didn’t know what you’d say, that’s why I asked.”_

_“Dude, you could’ve guessed.  You sure you’re smart enough to get into one of these schools?”_

_“Shut up,” Sam says, nudging the leg of Dean’s chair so he loses his balance and its feet slam onto the wood floor of the porch.  He scowls.  Sam laughs._

_Dean rolls his eyes and takes another sip.  “Seriously, dude, I think it’s a great idea.”_

_Sam smiles a bit.  “I can start as just a part time student, see how things go …”_

_“Why?” Dean cuts in.  “Do you want to go back to school full time?”  After a minute, Sam nods.  “Then do it.  What’s stopping you?  Like you said, for the first time in a long time, doesn’t look like the world’s about to end anytime soon, so carpe diem, man.”_

_“Ha, sounds good,” Sam admits.  He looks pretty casual about the whole thing, but Dean can see the relief in Sam’s posture, knows that this has been weighing on him for a while now.  Well, that’s stupid.  He’d like to think they’re past all that unhealthy dying-for-each-other stuff.  Time to live for themselves a little._

_“Actually, I’m glad you’re down for this plan, because … I’ve already applied to a few places.”_

_Dean laughs, shaking his head.  “Well, did you get accepted?”_

_“Yeah, to most of them.  For classes starting in the fall.”_

_Dean hums in assent.  “Sounds great.”_

_“I only applied to schools in Kansas to save a bit of money with in-state fees.  But I’ll get an apartment wherever I go.  Leave this place to you and Cas, like I said.”_

_“You sure?” Dean asks.  He’ll admit, at least to himself, that he’d kind of always hoped this could be a place for him and Cas to settle down, to make a home out of.  But he doesn’t want Sam to feel unwelcome, or like they don’t want him around._

_“Yeah, I’m sure.  Honestly, ever since we signed off on this place, it’s been pretty clear this place was for you guys, not me.”_

_Dean forces himself to scoff a bit.  He raises his bottle to his lips again, swallows a few sips and turns his head out towards the road again to hide the heat crawling up his face._

_“And I’m fine with that,” Sam adds.  “I’m happy here, but I’ll be happier visiting now and then.  This isn’t the ending I imagined for myself, but you guys … well.  You deserve it, Dean.”_

_Hearing that sort of thing always makes him horrifically uncomfortable, makes him want to laugh it off and argue that he doesn’t.  But he’s learning that protesting isn’t gonna make people change their minds when they say that, so he just keeps quiet._

_“Thanks,” he gets out after a while.  And maybe it’s the light from the sun settling just below the trees in front of them, or the slight tingle in his bloodstream from the beers, but he manages to add on, “For what it’s worth, um. You deserve to go to school and all that, too.”_

_Sam smiles for real at that, leaving them to lapse back into the comfortable silence they’d been enjoying before._

_After a few minutes, though, Sam huffs a small laugh.  “Wow, I’ll probably have to adopt a puppy when I get my own apartment, or something else nauseatingly cute, just to cushion the shock of not living around you and Cas anymore.”_

_“Ha fucking ha,” Dean retorts, before downing the last sip of his beer._

_“And man, this place is gonna be empty too.  Charlie and I will only be visiting from time to time, it’ll just be you and Cas.  What are you gonna do with all those extra rooms?”_

_It’s said teasingly, but Dean’s drink catches in his throat, causing him to choke slightly at the shock.  Truth is, he has been thinking about it, at least subconsciously imagining what those other rooms could become eventually._

_Sam’s looking at him in concern after the slight choking episode.  Dean clears his throat a couple times, unable to stop his cheeks from heating up as he explains.  “Uh, you know.  We’ll keep them set up for you guys to visit.  Or maybe other people will live in them.  Not right now, but … someday._

_“People?” Sam asks, searchingly._

_“Yeah! Like … you know, people. Small … baby … people …”_


	2. Chapter 2

For Castiel, it’s midterm season, which can only mean one thing: the endless monotony of marking. He only travelled to the physics building at the college today for one class and a couple hours’ worth of office time with his students, but since they just handed in their first graded assignment last week, no one had any pressing questions and he figured his time could be just as well spent in the comfort of his own home.

Two o’clock in the afternoon finds him laid out on their living room couch, an old Blues record playing quietly in the room with him is his only company. With Mary in full time kindergarten now, and Robbie already in nursery school, quiet seems to be the default state of their house. Only when the schools bells ring, and keys lock up the doors on Dean’s garage, does their home once again echo the delighted screams of children, and the rooms are filled with the smell of meals being prepared.

Castiel settles into marking, red pen between his teeth as he flips through each student’s exam booklet, making notes and correction here and there. He doesn’t like it, but he does go a little harder on the students on their midterm than he does on the final. It’s worth less so it doesn’t harm their grade as much, but they also get more detailed advice about how to improve for the final.

He’s writing a comment about a student’s misuse of the Boltzmann constant in the photoelectric equation when he hears the front door open. Castiel sets his papers down as his husband rounds the corner to their living room. His freckled skin is covered in what must be motor oil or engine grease, but he grins wide, leaning against the doorway in a way he knows Castiel finds attractive.

“Professor Winchester …” Dean beams, winking at him. Cas looks down at his blue sweater vest and khakis and silently concedes that yes, he does look rather studious today.

“What are you doing here?” Cas asks, whipping off his reading glasses and squinting as Dean comes into focus.

“Sandra let me leave work early,” Dean explains, pushing off the wall and toeing off his shoes. “I guess she must’ve known my sexy husband was waitin’ for me back home.”

“Hilarious.” Dean pads his way over to the couch with a sultry smile and Cas realizes, belatedly, that he isn’t going to stop. “No, Dean, we just cleaned the couch cushions and you’re—”

The couch dips down as Dean plants one knee beside him and leans down to seal his lips over Castiel’s.

“—filthy,” he finishes as Dean pulls out of the kiss. Castiel would complain further but Dean’s lips are soft, his hands warm, and midterms can wait.

“You love it,” Dean whispers against his lips before dragging him into another kiss. It’s unusual that they would have this time to themselves, so the papers fall to the floor as Cas eagerly pulls his husband closer onto his lap.

Castiel has seen the jokes on television about the sexual exploits of married couples, or lack thereof. He cannot deny that since having children the frequency of their love making has decreased significantly, but he must disagree with the often followed-up sentiment that married couples become less attracted to each other, or worse yet, fall out of love. Every aspect of Dean is still as pleasing to him as it always has been. The changes to his body, like the deeper laugh lines around his eyes, and the softness around his middle, have only added to the love he feels for this man, and the fire that burns in his body when he touches him.

“D’you wanna get out of here?” Dean jokes slyly, his hands cupping the sides of Castiel’s face, tilting his head to fit their mouths together at a better angle. Castiel manages to get an eye roll in between kisses.

“Where are we going?” he mumbles as Dean kisses him again.

“Our bedroom.” Dean moves down to nuzzle under his jaw, their stubble scratching like hot sand. Castiel’s eyes fall shut, blanketing the room in darkness as Dean’s oil stained hands find their way under Castiel’s sweater and button up to drag down his warm skin underneath.

“Dean, what on earth has gotten into you?” Cas says, containing what would have been a very embarrassing giggle when Dean sucks a mark into the crook of his neck. Dean pulls his head away but his hands stay fitted against Castiel’s ribcage. He looks forwards into Dean’s bright green eyes when his head pops into view.

“I’m just happy,” Dean states. “I got to come home early from work on the same day you only have early classes and now I get to spend—“ he looks to his left at the large clock hanging on the wall “—one hour and thirty seven minutes alone with you before picking up the kids.”

Even after so many years Castiel, supposes he still isn’t used to the casual happiness that infects every part of their lives. His hands slide up Dean’s broad back and come to rest over his shoulder blades.

“So … what you were saying about our bedroom earlier …?”

Dean whoops gleefully and rolls back off the couch, taking Castiel’s hand in his and hauling him to his feet. Dean is warm and lively as he pulls Castiel out the living room. He is more than happy to indulge his husband when he gets so enthusiastic like this—well, it’s not just Dean he’s indulging. And besides, it really has been a while.

They don’t even make it to the foot of the stairs before Dean gets his hands back under Castiel’s shirt and pushes him gently until his back is against the wall and soft, insistent lips are claiming his in another heated kiss. Dean nips at the underside of his jaw, teeth grazing along stubble.

“Cas.” His heart speeds up a little at the low, heated tone Dean’s voice takes on. “I want you to—”

There’s a knock at the door.

There’s a goddamn knock at the door and Castiel is going to smite whoever is behind it.

“Don’t answer it,” Castiel says, sliding his fingers into Dean’s short hair and pulling him forward into another kiss. “It’s probably just solicitors.” And another. “Or politicians.” He deepens the next one. “They just want to put an obnoxious sign on our lawn.”

Because Dean is amazing, he doesn’t bother to respond, just keeps kissing Castiel into oblivion.

Until the knocking picks up again, louder and more forceful.

Dean growls in frustration, pulling away.

“They’ll go away,” Castiel insists, trying to urge Dean’s mouth back to his.

“They will once I tell them to get lost,” Dean says. He leaves Castiel with one last kiss, slow and deep and promising, then pulls back a step, leaving scalding brands in shape of his hands all over Castiel’s chest.  Castiel breathes deeply momentarily, resting his head against the wall and closing his eyes, trying to get the blood rushing back to his oxygen-deprived head. Dean takes a deep breath too, muttering “First work, then having kids, now freakin’ politicians … at this rate, we’ll never have sex again.”

Castiel looks at him very seriously. “That’s _not_ an option.”

Dean raises his eyebrows in agreement, nodding once with a flick of his head, and turning back towards the door, his bowed legs sauntering down the hallway. Castiel sees his husband open the door, but his broad shoulders block whoever it is in the doorway, the bright afternoon sun streaming in through the open spaces. The marginal tensing of those shoulders puts Castiel on edge.

“Can I help you?” he hears Dean ask. People, a few of them, shuffle around just out the door.

“Are you Dean Winchester?” a strange voice asks, clipped, nasal, and a little disbelieving.

“I might be, but that depends on what you want with me.” Dean’s voice is defensive and his arms cross over his chest. Castiel knows then, instinctively, that these are not politicians at the door, and Dean is not taking him to bed after this. His approaching footsteps alert Dean to his presence and Dean steps slightly out of the way so that Castiel can see their visitors.

There are three young people standing on his front porch—two women and a man. Castiel recognizes none of them individually, but as a collective, he already knows who they are. He knows what their worn and patched clothes mean, what their tired haunted faces represent. He has lived amongst this particular brand of people for many years.

These are hunters.

“We want to know,” say the male hunter standing a little off to the side, the one with the nasally voice, “if you’re the same Dean Winchester that used to run a… ah… certain kind of family business.”

Dean’s hand finds the sleeve of his sweater and grips tight. Both of their heads pop out and swivel around, searching the streets for occupants. Castiel spots one of their more nosy neighbour Mrs. Mortimer, walking her poodle and approaching them slowly and decides he’d rather not have the chairwoman of the PTA see them talking to a group of strange vagrants.

“Then you have the right Winchester,” Castiel says, surprising himself as much as Dean who turns a confused look on him. “Please come in, the three of you stick out like a sore thumb around here.”

The three young hunters look to each other before stepping forward and Dean and him back away to let them in. Unfortunately, they somehow look even more out of place in the front hall of Dean and his home. It reminds him that they used to look the same. Too bruised and broken to quite fit in with their average, normal neighbours. Over the years they've managed to make it work.

Whoever these young hunters are, staring around at the framed artwork and little rain boots with speculation, they are certainly still trying to figure things out.

"Alright, cut the double-talk. You guys are hunters, what do you want," Dean says, refusing to keep the frustration out of his voice. Castiel understands why. Although many of their friends are hunters and former hunters, it's a life they've left behind. Castiel is not enjoying this reminder of what once was.

"What do you think we want?" one of the women asks, sharply. Her dark afro bobs as she tips her head to one side, a quirk Castiel knows he is guilty of. Her freckles remind him of Dean though, but they dot her thin dark face subtly, rather than Dean's very definite spots. "We're on a hunt and someone told us there were some hunters in town that might be able to help."

"Well I'm sorry, honey, but you got some bad information." Dean shakes his head, his posture still stiff and guarded.

"So you aren't the Dean Winchester who stopped the apocalypse?" the other female hunter says. Castiel understands that her ripped jeans and spiky hair are “in” but he still can’t help the horrifying feeling that he’s looking into his daughter’s future.

“Oh, I did. Fourteen years ago.”

“So… what then?” the last hunter, a relatively average-looking man with a raised scar on his right cheek, prompts. The disdain in his voice is obvious. He grates on Castiel already. “ _The_ Dean Winchester threw in the towel? I don’t believe it.”

“Excuse me?” Dean’s eyes go wide.

“Look, I’ve just heard the stories okay,” the hunter says, “about you and your brother and the people you saved. I didn’t think a hunter like you would just quit.”

“Oh, I didn’t quit. I retired,” Dean snaps. “There’s a difference. And I don't know who's been feeding you information about me or my family but I don't know who you are, and I don't like you. So, either get to the point, or get to the curb, real fast."

"Dean." Castiel lays a hand on his husband's shoulder. Dean is trembling but relaxes minutely under Castiel's touch. Castiel spares the hunters a brief glance before stepping in front of Dean, forcing those green eyes to flick down onto his. "Talk with me for a moment."

With a brief “Wait here,” to the trio, he pulls Dean down the hall and back to the living room they just left. The surface of Dean's facade cracks a little more when they're out of eyesight of their unexpected visitors.

"Cas, there are hunters. There are hunters _in our house_ ," Dean hisses. "They're not even real hunters. They have eyebrow piercings."

" _And_ we don't even know what they want yet," Castiel says, trying to reason with him.

"Hunters only ever want one thing, Cas. To hunt."

"Well, maybe not. For all we know, they want your autograph."

Dean pauses, looking unimpressed. After a beat, he yells down the hallway, "Do you want my autograph?"

A meek, confused reply comes after a second.

"… No?"

Dean turns back to him. "See?"

"Why don't we hear them out, just see what they have to say and then send them on their way?" Castiel suggests. Trying a different tactic to calm Dean down, he then puts on a wry smile, steps closer into Dean’s space. "You know … the sooner we get them out of here the sooner we can go upstairs and—"

Dean looks like he wants to roll his eyes, but the hints of a fond smile overpower his exasperation. In turn, Castiel grins triumphantly. "Yeah, yeah, okay." Dean nods sharply and squeezes his shoulder.

He follows Dean back down the hall, towards the three hunters still standing awkwardly in their entryway.

“Alright, be quick, we’ve got things to do and people to see,” Dean says, his arms folded across his chest again.

"So …” the one that Castiel does not like starts, "my name's Ezra. This is Wendy—" He gestures to the girl beside him, the one with the piercings and the short hair. "—and Izzy." He points to the dark-skinned girl standing beside her.

“Charmed. Get to the point,” Dean deadpans.

“The point,” Ezra says, “is that we’re on a hunt, but we … don’t know what we’re hunting. We heard you guys were the best hunters around and we’d appreciate it if you’d consider … coming out of retirement for a few days.”

“We don’t hunt anymore,” Castiel states. And they don’t. They have jobs to do and children to take care of and PTA meetings to attend, and they agreed a long time ago that hunting doesn’t fit into their new life that they’ve built.

“I know,” Izzy says, placating, “but there’s something about this case that just feels different, and we need some help. We’re interviewing some witnesses in the next town over tomorrow afternoon. We could all meet up at a coffee shop beforehand, we can brief you on the details there.”

“I just don’t think it’s gonna happen,” Dean says, shaking his head. Castiel stands firm beside him, but Izzy’s plea has moved him slightly. These hunters are young and although Castiel doesn’t know their stories, or where they’ve came from, he feels that they are out of their depth.

“How about we sleep on it, and we’ll get back to you in the morning,” Castiel suggests, locking eyes with Izzy to avoid the serious glare he knows Dean is burning into the side of his head.

“Okay.” Wendy rips a piece of paper out of her oversized, lumpy bag that she brought and a pen along with it. She scribbles something down and hands it out to him. “Call me when you decide if you want to help or not.”

He takes the small piece of paper from her hands and looks down at the ten-digit number. It’s a Nebraska area code.

“Thank you, we’ll be in touch,” Castiel says and his guests give him a curt nod. Upon seeing the look on Dean’s face, they see themselves out, snapping the door shut behind them. Castiel can’t blame them. His husband is fuming.

 _“We’ll sleep on it?”_ Dean mocks. _“We’ll be in touch?”_

“If you were paying attention, you also would have noticed that I told them we don’t hunt anymore,” says Castiel.

“Then what’s with the mixed signals, Cas?” Dean snorts. “Either we’re hunters and we’ll help them, or we’re not and we won’t. I’m not exactly seeing a grey-area here.”

Castiel is cautious as he continues.

“Perhaps, it would not go against our no-hunting rule to simply meet with them and hear them out.” Dean barks a cruel laugh and he raises his hands in a shrug, like he can’t believe he’s hearing what Castiel is saying. “Dean, when you were twenty five and you were on a difficult hunt, wouldn’t you like to have the advice of a more experienced hunter in the area? Even if you knew they had left the business?”

“No, I would’ve respected their decision and left ‘em alone.”

Castiel squints.

“Okay, no I fucking wouldn’t have, but I know now that I would’ve been wrong,” Dean concedes, taking a deep breath. “But come on, Cas, what do you want from me? I don’t think I’m being unreasonable putting my foot down on this.”

Castiel steps forward and takes Dean’s hand into his, now that Dean looks like he would be slightly more receptive to any sort of comforting touch. Dean grips his hands tightly and Castiel softens his gaze when he realizes what’s behind Dean’s eyes; fear.

“I don’t want to change the arrangement that we have now, and I am definitely not saying we should drop everything to help these strangers. _That_ would be an unreasonable request.”

“But you’re saying we should hear them out?” Dean asks more than states, and Castiel nods.

Dean drops his hands and turns away, shaking his head. Castiel’s heart hurts seeing him like this, his two sides warring with each other, debating about which path with ultimately keep his family safer. Keeping his promise to stay out of hunting forever, or picking up a hunt so close to home it may already be putting his children in danger.

“I can’t do this right now, Cas,” he says, slipping on his shoes. “I’m gonna take a drive, clear my head a bit.”

“Do you want me to pick up the kids?” Castiel asks, biting down on his lip and fiddling with his wedding ring.

“No I’ll get them, it’s fine.” Dean grabs his keys from the small bowl on the table beside the door. Castiel hates when they depart like this, but just before Dean leaves he pauses and his shoulders drop.

“Call Sam,” he says without turning around, and shuts the door behind him.

Cas scrunches the small piece of paper in his hand, cursing the factors that brought them here. It isn’t that he doesn’t stand by his position, he just wishes it wouldn’t put a stake between him and Dean.

With a heavy heart he slides open his cell phone and calls his brother in law.


	3. Chapter 3

After a while, burning fuel and cruising the back roads of Concordia in an attempt to clear his head gets tiring.  Dean finds himself driving back into the centre of town, thankfully around the same time he’d have to go pick up Mary and Robbie from school anyway.  He’s had Metallica playing—it’s generally loud and heavy enough to drown out his thoughts—but remembers to switch it out for a Boston CD before climbing out of the car at Mary’s school.

It’s a beautiful day, so the kids are all running around on the playground fenced off just for kindergarteners.  Dean can’t really tell one from the other in the fast-moving mess they make, but Mary can spot him from atop the slide.

“Hi, daddy!” she calls, and immediately all of Dean’s worries seem to dissolve, replaced with a warmth that makes him smile unconsciously.  She slides down the slide and doesn’t waste a second running straight to him, locking her arms around his middle.

“Hey, sweet pea,” he says, hugging her back momentarily before grabbing her hand in his, catching her teacher’s eye and waving with his other to let her know that Mary’s safe in his care now.

They walk back to the Impala hand in hand.  Once Mary’s strapped into her car seat, she picks up her bag and rummages around in it. “Look!” she says, pulling out a piece of paper, the edges crumpled from being shoved in her bag. “I painted a picture for the fridge!”

Dean leans down next to her. “That’s awesome. What did you draw?”

“I didn’t _draw_ , daddy, I painted it,” she corrects, with all the exasperation of a five-year-old. “It’s our backyard, and some bumblebees, and papa’s flowers, and me with a watering can, and the bumblebees are pollamating the flowers so they can go make more flowers!”

Dean grins as she points out each aspect of the picture, painted in bright colours. He’s never been a big fan of art, but he can safely say that this is his favourite kind.

“I love it,” he tells her. “We’ll put it up on the fridge as soon as we get home, okay?”

“Good,” Mary says, making him chuckle.

Robbie’s preschool is just a couple blocks away, so they drive there next. It’s funny, Dean thinks, that he drove for nearly an hour before this, but only in this short, sixty second drive with his daughter in the back, has he actually started to feel better.

Robbie looks just as excited as Mary to see him when he comes to the front door. Dean feels the same wave of happiness each time he picks up his kids, sure, but he still hasn’t quite grasped the fact that they feel the same when they see him. It’s surreal.

Times like this, with his kids regaling him with stories from their day, it’s not hard to remember why he and Cas quit hunting.  It gave him a sense of purpose, sure, but not in a million years could it give him the sense of joy that living a normal life does.  The only times he can really remember being this happy before they moved into the farmhouse were times spent with Cas, or with Charlie or Jody. Not hunting, just hanging out, and enjoying each other’s company. And he can get all that and more, minus the life-threatening, sleep-depriving lifestyle.

Hell, even he and Sam are on way better terms now that the time they spend together is purely social.  He’s never gonna get tired of the fact that now, almost every time he talks to Sam, it’s about how happy they both are, how good life is.  It’s more than he could have dreamed of, both for himself and his brother.  Sam’s happy, and somehow so is Dean, and neither of them at the expense of the other, or while the other is in Purgatory or Hell, or anything like that.

So yeah, hunters show up wanting to drag him back in with a case?  Not the most tempting offer.

And he’s sure Cas will agree, now that they’ve both cooled down.

Speaking of Cas, he’s waiting for them in the family room when they get home, getting to his feet as soon as Dean, Mary and Robbie step into view.

“Hello, my little bumblebees,” he greets with a smile, hugging both of them.  He sits back down on the couch, their son in his lap, as Mary and Robbie recount to him the same things they did to Dean in the car. Cas listens intently, visibly following every single word. It’s so fucking endearing that Dean forgets to be mad at him, just smiles as he unpacks the kids’ lunchboxes from their bags.

A few minutes later, he hears the TV turn on, immediately followed by footsteps headed his way. He doesn’t look up as Cas gently grabs his arm to turn him away from the counter.

“Dean …” Cas is looking at him worriedly, his voice small, as if he’s reluctant to say anything in case Dean starts shouting.

And that’s just not okay, because Cas shouldn’t be worried or upset. He should be happy, always, because he’s amazing and he’s gorgeous when he smiles, so Dean lunges forward to kiss him thoroughly to hopefully make him do just that.

“We’re fine,” he says as he pulls away. Cas still looks uncertain, so Dean presses their lips together again, and one more time for good measure, until he can feel Cas' smile against his mouth. “I’m not mad, okay?”

“Okay,” Cas echoes, looking relieved. “We still need to talk about this, though.”

“And we will. Later. Right now, I’ve got dinner to make, and you’ve got plants to water. Oh, that reminds me. Hey, Mary?” he yells over to the family room. Her head pokes up over the top of the couch. “Didn’t you have something for papa?”

“Yeah!” she shouts, leaping over the back of the couch—which she is not allowed to do, Jesus, she’s gonna hurt herself one of these days—to retrieve her picture from her backpack.

She runs up to Cas, who extricates himself from Dean’s embrace to crouch down next to her. “This is beautiful, Mary,” he compliments, and Dean just knows a snapshot of this painting is gonna end up on Cas’ Instagram by the end of the day, as all of Mary and Robbie’s art does.

“I painted the bumblebees in your garden!”

“ _Our_ garden, Mary,” Cas amends.

Mary giggles. “Okay, papa.”

“What is this?” he asks, pointing at a blue shape in painting-Mary’s hands.

“That’s my water can, so the flowers don’t get thirsty, and the flowers can be happy, so the bees can pollamate them lots!”

“ _Pollinate,_ but yes, you are exactly correct.” Cas grins at her. “What a smart daughter I have.”

Mary practically glows with joy.

“Should we hang it outside, so the bees and the flowers can marvel at your beautiful painting?”

“No, papa,” she tells him, still giggling, “we have to put it on the fridge.”

“Here,” Dean offers, taking the painting from Mary and strategically placing it on the fridge. It’s a puzzle for sure, since it can’t overlap any other drawing too much, and he needs to use the same magnets that are already keeping other ones up. They need to get more. “Perfect.”

“Perfect!” Mary agrees.

Cas reaches down to pick her up, standing with her in his arms. “Mary, should we go make sure our flowers aren’t thirsty?”

“Yes,” she says decisively.

“And Robbie?” Cas says more loudly, getting Robbie’s attention away from the TV. “Would you still like to help me in the garden too?”

“Yeah!” Robbie answers, running over to Cas so fast he nearly trips over his little legs. “Can I have the blue water can?”

“No, that’s mine!” Mary yells indignantly from Cas' arms.

Cas frowns at her. “Mary, please don’t shout.”

“But the blue watering can is mine,” she protests.

“No, it’s not!” Robbie retorts.

Dean speaks up. “I don’t think anyone gets to use the blue watering can until I hear some nicer voices and magic words.”

Both Robbie and Mary quiet down, looking a little sheepish. “ _Please_ can I have the blue water can?” Robbie asks.

“No, please can _I_ have the blue one?” Mary asks overtop.

“I think we can take turns,” Cas suggests, “but first, Mary, please apologize for yelling at your brother.”

She makes an exaggerated frowning face at both Cas and Dean, but finally realizes she’s not going to win this. “I’m sorry, Robbie.”

“Can I have the blue water can first?” Robbie asks. One-track mind sometimes, toddlers.

“Yes, and then Mary,” Cas explains, carrying Mary outside using one arm and reaching for Robbie’s hand with his other. Dean has to close the door behind them, staying at the glass doors for a few minutes to watch them negotiate who uses which watering can for which flowers. Cas has a full-sized metal watering can, and two smaller ones—a blue one and a yellow one—for Mary and Robbie, all of which he fills up with water from their rain barrel. Dean snorts, looking at the identical miniature watering cans his kids fight over. Apparently colour makes a lot of difference.

While Cas and their kids are occupied outside, Dean clicks off the TV, turns on the radio, and sets about making dinner—honey mustard chicken, rice, and vegetables today. It’s much nicer now that both of his kids can eat real food instead of all the soft baby stuff—although his choices are still limited to what can easily be cut into bite-sized pieces, and is moderately soft.  But it makes him feel good, useful and needed, to come up with a dinner plan every night, prepare it for his family and eat with them all at the same table.

Even when they were still living in the bunker, still hunting, Dean found comfort in cooking dinner for Sam and Cas and whoever else was around at the time. Even if everything about their lives had gone to shit and was out of control, he could still put food on the table and feed everyone and that was worth more than he really considered at the time.

Of course, he can get that sense of satisfaction and comfort without the monster, now, which is indescribably better.

Cas and the kids apparently find enough to do outside that by the time they come in, all three covered in dirt, Dean’s about to put dinner on the table.

“Okay, I spy three people who need to wash their hands before they get any dinner, and all three of them are shorter than me,” Dean says with a smile.

He hoists Robbie up high enough to reach into the sink while Mary stands on her tiptoes on the stool. Cas tries to just wipe his hands off on his jeans, the idiot, but Dean catches him and raises his eyebrow expectantly until Cas sighs and washes his own hands.

Dinner begins as always with Dean and Cas cutting up the chicken on Mary and Robbie’s plates before either of them dig into their own food. Once they do, of course, it’s delicious, and none of them speak for a few moments, just filling up on chicken and cooked vegetables before any conversation can start. Mary and Robbie eventually get around to telling more stories from school, what book Mary’s teacher read them today—The Very Hungry Caterpillar—and what meal Robbie ‘cooked’ at the plastic kitchen set—tacos and spaghetti and croissants, apparently.

Dean and Cas do the dishes after dinner while Mary and Robbie pull out their wooden train set and make a long track that runs all around the family room. And it’s all exceptionally domestic, and normal, and probably boring, but you know what? Dean couldn’t be happier.

Damn, he and Cas really do still need to talk about those hunters.

For now, though, while Cas gives Mary a bath upstairs, Dean takes a seat next to Robbie with his train set. “What’cha doing, bud?”

“Making trains.”

“Why is the track so long? Aren’t you supposed to make it a big circle so more than one train can be on it at the same time?”

Robbie rolls his eyes at him. “No, daddy.”

“That’s cool. Where does the track go?”

“From Couch Village to Chair City. All the people live in Couch Village, ‘cause it’s comfy, but they haf’ta go work in Chair City.”

“I see,” Dean says, adjusting some of the train tracks so they line up better. “What sort of work do they do in Chair City?”

“They teach people things at school, and they fix cars, like you and papa.”

Dean smiles, ruffling his son’s hair. “Sounds like a nice place to live. Can I help move the trains?”

“ _I_ move the trains, daddy. I’m the c’ducter,” Robbie tells him, unheeding of the word he can’t pronounce.

“The conductor, huh? Well, maybe I’ll have to be a mechanic going to work.”

He proceeds to pretend to climb into one of the tiny train cars, looks puzzled when he can’t fit, making Robbie laugh so hard he squeals, which, yeah, has got to be one of Dean’s favourite sounds in the whole world right there.

After that it’s Robbie’s turn to take a bath, and then there’s brushing teeth and getting into pajamas and carefully selecting which stuffed animals should sleep next to Mary tonight and which ones have to stay on the chair. While that last step is going on, Cas reads to Robbie, and Dean can hear him doing funny voices and accents for different characters. Dean and Cas trade then, Dean giving Robbie a last goodnight kiss and tucking the covers up around his chin, before heading over to Mary’s room to listen to the rest of the story Cas is reading her. She’s learning to read on her own, but she likes to be read to all the same.

Finally, two kids put to sleep, Dean and Cas trudge back downstairs and collapse on the couch side by side.

"I am worried," Cas begins and Dean braces himself for the worst, "that Mary's teacher isn't challenging her reading level enough."

Dean's mind backtracks slightly but gets with the program fast enough. "What, like The Very Hungry Caterpillar? Yeah, she could read that when she was four." Cas nods, getting that glint in his eye that usually means some poor teacher is gonna get a severe talking to at the next PTA night. "Maybe it was more of a quiet time, everyone's being read the same story, kinda deal."

"She still needs to be introduced to more complex themes, to broaden her knowledge and vocabulary," says Cas.

Dean claps one hand down on Cas' knee. "That's what you're good for. School will teach her colours and animals, you’ll teach her words like 'superfluously' and 'mercantilism'."

Cas rolls his eyes. "Those aren’t extremely difficult words—"

"They are when you’re five—"

"And besides, school should be able to broaden a child's horizons more than their parents can. I'll wait until after her first report card is released, but I _will_ speak to Ms. Jacobi about it."

Dean nods and lets him have this one, squeezing Cas' knee once in what he hopes is a reassuring way.

"I wanna take Robbie to the train station, just for fun," Dean says, "maybe check out if they do tours or something for little kids."

"You could even buy a train ticket, just to go one stop. He would enjoy that," Cas says.

"I think that would definitely give credence to his belief that trains are _just roller coasters that don't go over hills_ ," Dean jokes, mocking Robbie's adorable toddler-speech just slightly. Cas laughs with a gummy smile so Dean thinks he got it pretty spot on.

"I think it's a great idea, Dean," Cas says nodding.

Dean's fingers play over Cas' jean-clad knee for a moment.

“We’ve got a good thing going here, Cas.”

“Yes, we do,” Cas says slowly.

Dean clears his throat before the next part. “And we built all this on top of a life that doesn’t involve hunting, you know?”

“I know,” Cas sighs, obviously seeing where Dean’s going with this now.

“I get your point,” he says, pacifying, “that those hunters were clearly amateurs, and that us giving them a helping hand could do them a lot of good. But I don’t think it’ll do _us_ a lot of good. I mean, hunting is around-the-clock. You don’t just clock out at five and go home to family dinner.”

“I’m not thinking just about us, though, Dean,” Cas says.

“Then think about our kids, Cas. Mary and Robbie? Shipping them off for a few days while we walk around town with guns tucked in our belts doesn’t sit right with me.”

“I _am_ thinking about our kids,” Cas contests with a glower. “Dean, if there are monsters nearby, I want them gone. And you and I would be better suited to doing a thorough job than those hunters.”

Dean huffs, sinking further into the couch cushions. “I know.”

Cas fidgets for a minute, before leaning into Dean’s side, reaching a hand up to comb through his hair. Dean leans into the touch, humming gratefully. “I still think we should at least meet them tomorrow. Hopefully, we’ll be able to answer their questions and send them on their way with no trouble.”

“I don’t know,” Dean mumbles, closing his eyes. He could fall asleep like this. But he can’t, because Sam is gonna be here in a couple hours, is probably already driving up. “Let’s see what Sam says, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And look, Cas,” Dean starts, opening his eyes, “No matter what, we’ve gotta be on the same side here, okay?”

“One hundred percent,” Cas replies seriously.

* * *

Sam arrives alone late that night, explaining that he’d told his wife Mackenzie it was only a short visit and she didn’t need to come. He greets them warmly enough considering the reason for his visit, with short hugs and tight smiles. Despite how healthy and well Sam has been recently, he looks a little more ragged than usual. He did get here expeditiously fast, and the last 24 hours have been more stressful than usual. Castiel supposes they all look a little worse for wear.

“So,” Sam sets his duffel down on the carpeted floor of their living room, “we’re hunting again.”

“No,” Dean objects. “We are figuring out the best way to tell these people to go to hell and never come back.”

Sam’s eyes flick to his, knowingly. Castiel is well aware that Dean is not pleased, and not going down without a fight.

“Or, we could help them out,” Sam says and Dean goes still.

“We can give them some pointers, but that’s as far as I’m going. No way am I getting suited up for this,” Dean says, honestly appalled.

“Isn’t that what we do, Dean? Help people? At least, we used to.”

“We do still help people, Sam. I’m on the neighbourhood watch,” Dean retorts with a sarcastic smile. In fairness, he is actually on the local neighbourhood watch.

“Dean.” Sam sighs exasperatedly. “You know what I mean.”

“Then you know what I mean,” Dean says, back to a colder tone. “We decided, together, that we’re not gonna hunt anymore.”

“Really? Because I don’t remember taking a vote on that,” Sam scoffs.

“Are you trying to tell me you still wanna be a hunter? That the apple pie life just ain’t for you? What is it Sammy, you got marriage problems? You miss chopping heads off vamps? I don’t get it.”

Castiel has watched these two brothers fight many times, but not for several years. He’s forgotten how hard they can be on each other.

“Mackenzie and I are fine, and no, obviously I don’t miss coming home covered in monster guts every week. I just don’t see why we can’t have normal lives and do a bit of hunting on the side.” Sam shrugs.

“Okay, fine, but why all of a sudden?”

“Maybe this isn’t exactly sudden for me.”

The tension in the room is palpable.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean asks, finally.  Castiel meets his husband’s eyes as they turn to look at him for the first time since Sam arrived, searching for answers, or alternatively, support. Castiel doesn’t know how to tell him, so he waits for Sam to. It’s not his secret to tell anyways.

“I mean …” Sam starts slowly, “that maybe I haven’t exactly quit hunting cold turkey.” He tries to pass it off as no big deal, but Castiel knows Sam understands, deep down, what this will mean to Dean.

“What?” Dean breathes out in a volume barely over a whisper.

“Look, it’s not like it’s a regular thing. But if I see something in the paper or on the news, it doesn’t feel right just sitting around not doing anything. So I’ll call up a couple hunters nearby and we’ll take care of it.” He shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”

“Yes, it is a big fucking deal, Sam. You lied to me about this.” Dean’s voice rises again, hitting each syllable sharply.

“I didn’t lie, I just didn’t say anything. I thought if I told you, you would just worry more. Or you’d get mad.”

“I am mad!” Dean shouts.  Castiel is just about to interject, remind him to keep his voice down or take this outside so as to not wake their kids sleeping upstairs, but Dean turns to him and speaks before he gets the chance.  “Cas, can you believe this?”

Castiel hesitates, unsure how to reply, but finds out quickly enough that silence was definitely the wrong answer.

“Oh my god.” Dean’s face floods with understanding. “You knew about this.”

Castiel takes a deep breath and nods. A little over a year ago he’d called Sam while on one of his “business trips” and heard enough strange but familiar background noise to figure out what he was actually doing. He’d asked him about it when his brother-in-law returned, and Sam hadn’t denied it. Privately, Castiel was just glad Sam wasn’t involved in an extra-marital affair, though he did express his discontent at Sam’s evasion of the truth.

“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” Castiel replies calmly, “but I am sorry I was complicit in this lie.”

“It’s not his fault,” Sam says, “besides, it’s not like ever came with me.”

“Wow that makes me feel so much better.” Dean shakes his head in disbelief and begins to pace. Pacing is never good, but at least it means he’s thinking.

“Why do we need to do this? Why do you want to do this so bad?” Dean asks, more to himself than to anyone in particular. Sam answers him nonetheless.

“People are going missing and these hunters asked us, specifically, for their help. Do you need another reason?”

“Maybe I do,” Dean says, walking another length of the living room, “maybe I wanna know why the hell you never actually stopped hunting.”

Sam looks down for a moment, and Castiel can see him parsing through his thoughts carefully, searching for something that will make sense to Dean. That Dean could empathize with.

“Because I need to feel like I’m still doing something to keep my family safe,” Sam explains. “Don’t you understand that, Dean? Don’t you feel the same?”

Dean does, Castiel knows this better than anyone. He knows that the walls of this very house are hidden with warding sigils, meticulously painted by Dean. He knows that Dean makes their children wear defensive charms wherever they go. That Dean sleeps on the side of the bed closest to the door, so he can be the first line of defence should any danger come through it.

Castiel knows that Dean has found the softest ways to protect his small family, but he knows he will agree to the harshest methods too if it means his children can sleep soundly, warm and safe in their beds, even for just one more night.

“Fine. We’ll do the stupid hunt. But I wanna send the kids to Claire’s.” Dean says the last part to Castiel.

“She’s on an exchange in Europe, remember?” Castiel reminds him.

“Jody’s then.”

“She’s coming down to lend a hand,” Sam informs them. Dean swears under his breath.

“Perhaps it would be best if they stayed here with us anyways,” Castiel suggests, before Dean can name anyone else. “That way we can keep an eye on them. Hopefully, this hunt will be over before we know it.”

“I’m not happy about this,” Dean emphasizes quietly, speaking more to Castiel than to his brother.

“I don’t like this either Dean,” Castiel says, stepping towards his husband and taking his hands.  Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam shuffle a bit and turn away, giving them some privacy. “I don’t like that we’re back here again, that strangers have brought this on our home. But these people need our help.”

Dean’s eyes meet his, softening slightly under Castiel’s gaze.

“Okay,” Dean assents, nodding. “But we’re letting the hunters know in the morning.”

Castiel glances at the clock that reads 11:17. It wouldn’t be too late to tell them now—hunters do work 24/7 after all—but he understand what Dean means. Today still gets to be normal. Tomorrow they’ll head out to the shed, pick up shotguns with salt rounds in them and go ask locals if they’ve seen anything strange around lately, but not today.

“Sam, you’re welcome to sleep over tonight,” Castiel offers. “I’m sure Mary and Robbie would love to see their uncle when they wake up in the morning.”

Sam gladly takes him up on the suggestion, and shuffles off with his duffel bag to one of the guest bedrooms, mumbling goodnight on his way up the stairs.

Dean wipes down the kitchen counters and Castiel updates their chalkboard calendar with a couple important dates the school sent home in a newsletter with Mary. Castiel stops Dean before he starts mopping the floors too. Dean is notoriously bad for cleaning like a madman when he gets stressed so Castiel laces their fingers together and tugs him up to their second floor bedroom.

They dress for sleep in silence, putting off the inevitable discussion about today’s events.

“Would you like a back rub?” Castiel proposes after they’ve finished brushing their teeth. Dean throws a sly smirk at him before dropping onto their bed belly down and grabs one of their many fluffy pillows to lay his head on.

“You tryna’ loosen me up for something?” Dean mumbles sleepily.

He smiles at the suggestion, joining Dean on their bed and swinging one leg over Dean to straddle his thighs. “Only words, beloved.” Castiel presses a soft kiss to the nape of his neck and Dean groans into the first press of hands against tense muscles.

“I’d ask if you’re alright, but I know you aren’t,” Castiel says, rubbing over Dean’s shoulder blades.

“I dunno, ‘m not doin’ too bad right now,” Dean chides him, before sighing sadly. “’s all just kinda weird, Cas. We’re supposed to be done with this stuff. I thought Sam was done with this.” Then, after several minutes of Castiel’s trained hands trailing their way down his back, Dean speaks again. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says earnestly, his thumbs pressing circles into Dean’s lower back now. “I never know if it’s my place to come between you and Sam.”

“Hey …” Dean reaches an arm back to grab Castiel by the wrist and tug him down to lie parallel with Dean, back rubs apparently forgotten. Cas lands on his back, sinking into the soft duvet cover of their bed.  Dean props his head up on one bent elbow to stares down at him fondly, wedged into a plaid-covered decorative pillow. They were a birthday gift from Castiel two years ago, made using fabric from Dean’s old plaid shirts that were too worn to wear but good enough for pillow covers. “It’s not like that between the three of us. It wouldn’t be like me going behind Sam’s back and telling Mackenzie about monsters or somethin’. We’re different, you gotta know that.”

“I do, and you must also know that it was never my intention to keep secrets from you. Truth be told, I knew that eventually Sam would stop and that when he did he would find the courage to tell you. We’re Team Free Will, remember?” Castiel teases and earns an eye-crinkling smile in return.

Dean’s bright green eyes glow with warmth and affection and Castiel reaches one hand up to brush down Dean’s cheek. This man is beautiful, he thinks—not an unfamiliar thought, as it generally occurs to him at least twice daily, it seems.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember …”

Castiel welcomes the kiss that follows, unhurried and sweet, mirroring the love that took them here. Dean’s soft kisses ease them both to the precipice of sleep until finally Castiel flicks off the bed-side lamp and they crawl under the thick, warm covers and hold each other close until their thoughts are but shapes and colours, sleep claiming them both.


	4. Chapter 4

The house the next morning is nothing but a chorus of “Uncle Sammy, you’re here!” and “Uncle Sammy, will you make me breakfast?” and “Uncle Sammy, can I show you this painting I did at school?”

It is no surprise they love him so much. No one is really immune to their charms, but Sam in particular spoils them shamelessly. For example, breakfast this morning is apparently pancakes and whipped cream. Additionally, Mary is wearing her favourite dinosaur shirt which must have been plucked from the laundry basket, and odd coloured socks, meaning that Sam likely let her dress herself. At least she’s out of pajamas; the same cannot be said for Robbie.

“Papa! Sammy let us have maple syrup _and_ cream with our pancakes!” Mary says excitedly, her legs swinging from the kitchen stools at the wooden island. Her hands grab at the air for Castiel, beckoning him in for a good morning kiss, which he obliges without resistance.

“Is this imported from Canada?” Sam asks, peering down at the now empty glass bottle.

“Yes,” Castiel says, rubbing at the sticky spot on his cheek from his daughter’s kiss.

“Ugh, yeah. Cas is addicted to that sh—”

“Daddy!” Robbie and Mary cry. Dean entering any room of the house is generally a cause for celebration, Castiel in full agreement of this.

“—hey babies …” Dean grins wide, giving his daughter a warm hug before plucking his son from his booster seat, cradling him close and resting him on one hip. “Cas, you’ve got a little—”

Dean licks his thumb and rubs at the sticky spot on his cheek, wiping away the syrupy mess and soothing the spot with a quick kiss.

“Sam.” Dean’s tone immediately cools, depriving the room of his earlier warmth. Sam throws Castiel an exasperated look but Castiel merely shrugs. This is something between them that he has faith will even out smoothly soon enough.

"So if you guys have that _meeting_ you want to go to, I'd be happy to take the kids to school," Sam offers. This is a popular idea with Mary and Robbie apparently, who begin pleading with their parents to let their Uncle give them a ride to kindergarten and daycare.

"I think it's a lovely idea, Sam," Castiel says to the delight of his children.

"You know how to get there and everything?" Dean asks, putting on a passable smile for his kids.

"Yep, I'll be good Dean," Sam nods and swipes a dollop of whipped cream off of Mary's waffles, who whines indignantly. "Besides, I've got two little helpers who know their way around this small town."

Mary wiggles excitedly in her seat and Robbie drops his head onto Dean's shoulder. It's settled then, and he and Dean go back to their room quickly for a moment to change into day clothes.

They don't have time to eat before leaving, and even if they did it the kitchen is far too much of a mess to sort through what food hasn't been picked at or licked by the kids, or Sam for that matter.

With a hug and a kiss from each of their children, they finally depart for the day to meet their new hunting companions.

* * *

The meetup spot is a tiny roadside mom and pop diner, the likes of which Dean has seen many times. He’s been to a lot of diners in his life, and they do tend to blur together in his head. The outdated menus, the tired, overworked waitresses, the greasy food ... it’s all the same after a while.

The themed or novelty ones always stuck out a little more, they were his favorite. That's not what this one is. The red plastic seat covers and framed photos of Elvis and Marilyn Monroe give it that classic '50s feel the diner is obviously going for.

Marla Joy’s is a diner like this in their town Concordia the he and Cas and the kids have been to many times, for weeknight dinners when Dean and Cas are too tired to cook, or Sunday morning breakfasts when there’s no food in the house.  Dean and Cas have also been there on the occasional overlapping-lunch-break date. They know all the staff by name, and all of them adore Mary and Robbie, which is why Dean figures they always get extra candies with the bill.

This isn’t Marla Joy’s, though, because Dean and Cas—well-known suburban dads in this small town, god, how is this his life—meeting up with three young adults and discussing weird shit on a school day would probably be conspicuous at their usual Thursday-night dinner spot.

So here they are the next town over.

“The waitresses here don’t look as nice as they are at Marla Joy’s,” Dean grumbles.

“As long as they have coffee, I don’t care,” Cas replies.

In one of the booths down the far left side of the rectangular restaurant sit three very out of place looking people.

Ezra is wearing some tight low V-neck with a blue windbreaker over top. Wendy's outfit looks similar to yesterday's, but she's exchanged her earrings for even bigger, more menacing looking hoops. Izzy has her hair pulled back into a bun, a small colorful scarf wrapped around like a headband and knotted at the top, but at least has the decency to be wearing a blue and green plaid shirt, rolled up the her elbows.

This new hunter style is so not working for him.

Dean claps a hand on Cas' shoulder and steers him towards the booth, walking closely behind him. Ezra sees them coming and nudges Wendy beside him, who until that point looked deep in conversation with Izzy.

Cas slides into the booth first, shuffling to the end and sitting back upright and hands clasped on the table. Dean follows in behind him.

"We didn't think you guys were really gonna show," Wendy says, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah well," Dean picks up a laminated menu off the table, "Sam kinda talked us into it. Did you guys order?"

"Not yet," says Ezra.

The waitress makes an appearance then and writes their orders down on a small crumpled notepad. Izzy and Wendy both order bacon and eggs and Ezra gets a salad, because Dean apparently needed more reasons to dislike him. Cas yawns through his order of "two coffees, please."

Dean bumps Cas' shoulder sympathetically and orders a stack of pancakes, extra pancakes, for himself. He’s had a craving since he woke up.

"Did you like … not eat anything at home?" Izzy asks when the waitress walks away, smiling slightly at their order.

"Slept in. Kids ate all our food," Cas grunts.

"Do you _know_ how much small children eat?" Dean asks tiredly. The three shake their heads. "Well, it's a lot."

"Okay..." Ezra begins. “Well, about the case—"

"No." Cas shakes his head. "No case before coffee."

With that, Cas effectively crushes the conversation. Izzy valiantly tries to pick it up by asking about mundane things, like the weather or the local mayor that everyone is in a fuss about over some scandal. She unknowingly drops the ball when she asks with a curious tone, "so how did you two meet?"

"You don’t want to know," comes their simultaneous response and after that the booth falls into a tepid silence, until finally the waitress sets down their plates stacked with greasy breakfast food and Ezra's fucking salad.

After that their mouths are too stuffed with eggs and pancakes and bacon to notice the awkward silence. Dean's always kind of loved eating for that reason. It gives people something to do, something they need to do, and for a while everyone just shuts the fuck up and satisfies that basic human necessity.

Every meal must end, however, and as Dean stuffs the last bite of pancake in his mouth and Cas sets down his mostly empty second cup of coffee, the three young hunters look anticipatively across the table at them.

"So," Dean says, starting them off again, "the case. Tell us about it."

"It's a missing person’s case," Wendy explains. "We've been tracking it for three weeks now, no bodies have turned up, and it pretty much keeps getting weirder by the day."

"How so?" Cas asks, his voice gravelly from the sugary tar-like coffee he just poured down his throat.

Wendy looks to her side and Izzy, the metal piercings in her ear glinting off the fluorescent lights above them, and nods. "Show 'em."

Izzy reaches back and grabs an oversized, lumpy bag from her feet. Out of it, she pulls a few newspaper clippings and webpage printouts and lays them out on the surface in front of them. Its blurry words stare back up at him and Dean moves the clipping closer and further away from his face until they focus and he can mostly make out the words.

_Another Kansas couple missing, third in string of disappearances._

The subheading goes on to explain that the parents of two young children went missing from their home the night before last, seemingly taken from their homes, with no sign of forced entry. It is the third of such cases in the state of Kansas in the past two weeks.

Dean rubs his thumb over the photo of the family, pasted in beside the article. The caption reads that it was taken a mere two weeks ago, the four of them smiling wide up at the camera, unaware of what’s about to happen. He likes the think that even with the years of domesticity that have softened him, he’d still be able to kick a monster in the ass before it got him.

That aside, there’s nothing in the article to suggest that supernatural activity is even involved.

“What makes you believe this is a hunt?” Cas asks as if he can still read minds.

“The absence of a forced entry tipped us off first,” Wendy explains, “but the first family also had a security camera that picked up a possible suspect.”

She pulls one paper out of the stack, it’s an enlarged photo of a man outside a home. It’s late at night and he’s wearing dark clothes, but the real attraction is his eyes. They’re staring right into the lense of the camera and flare white.

“A shifter,” Dean observes. He lifts his eyes to look at the hunters, unimpressed. “So, track him down and kill him.”

“We were,” Izzy continues, “and as we were working that case, this popped up just a few miles west.” She hands them another news clipping, this one from an earlier date but displaying a similar headline. “This family didn’t have security cams, and we didn’t find any evidence of a shifter, but we found this—”

She reaches back into the bag and pulls out a plastic baggy with one long, thin tooth.

“A vampire tooth,” Dean says, mentally groaning.

“Did you get famous just stating the obvious?” Ezra asks condescendingly.

“Maybe I got famous kicking punk-ass kids like you—”

“ _Dean_.” A hand drops onto his knee and squeezes hard.

Dean’s not even really mad. He just wants an excuse to hit the guy.

“Alright, we understand the dilemma,” Cas says, obviously trying to appease the hunters slightly. “What about the most recent family?”

“Another security cam shot,” Izzy explains, handing them a third page, this one a blurrier photo than the first. Still, he can pick out the shape of a normal human-looking woman but her reflection in the car window beside her is something else. There, her skin is rotted and decaying, practically falling off her face.

“Shifters, vampires, _and wraiths_?” Cas asks.

“Oh my,” Dean teases, elbowing him in the side. Cas gives him a look that can only mean shut-up-or-die but honestly, the opening was too perfect not to make the joke. Mary being afraid of the Wizard of Oz was to be expected. Cas being equally frightened was just a hilarious surprise.

“Maybe,” Cas gives him a hard look, pleading with him to be serious again, "they’re Jefferson Starships.”

“No way.” Dean shakes his head. “Besides, they only took the traits from the wraith’s spikes, not their rotting faces, and before you ask, no we don’t have time to explain what a Jefferson Starship is.”

Thankfully, the hunters don't press the issue.

"Maybe the cases are unrelated," Cas suggests. Dean is more than inclined to believe him. "Are there many similarities between them?"

"Some," Wendy says, "the ones we know for sure is that they're all married couples with two kids, and the disappearances are moving west across Kansas.”

Dean sighs. “You know, that’s not a lot.”

“I know, but—”

“Sounds to me like you’ve just got a couple monsters, doing their monster thing, who happen to be hungry at the same time. That ain’t a big deal.” Dean shrugs his shoulders at the young hunters sitting across from him. “Maybe you’re looking for something that’s just not there.”

“No.”

Dean turns sharply to the girl across from him. Izzy’s giving him a hard-line challenging glare.

“No?” he asks.

“Hunters should always trust their gut, right?” she says firmly. He can’t exactly argue with that so he nods once, slowly. “Well my gut’s telling me this something bigger than some random, overlapping feeding times. Isn’t that worth something?”

It’s worth a lot. Izzy is feisty and determined about this case. She reminds Dean a lot of Krissy, or Claire, and that’s exactly why he’s so hesitant to help this girl out, instead of sending her home to her family. If she has a family, that is. To be fair, most hunters don’t.

But Dean does now. He has a husband, and two kids who need him. Hunting doesn’t need him anymore. And now these kids wanna drag him back in? Yeah, he’s a little defensive, sue him.

He says none of that, of course.

“That might be enough for you, but I think we need a little more than a ‘gut feeling’ to get involved in this.”

Beside him, Cas nods in solidarity.

“Well, why don’t you come interview some witnesses with us this afternoon?” Ezra suggests. “Maybe you’ll find some clues with your many years of experience that my punk-ass would have missed.”

Dean really doesn’t like this guy.

“Why don’t I?” he retorts sarcastically. “Um, because I have to go to work. I have a real job, now. Because I’m a normal human being."

"That's a joke if I ever heard one."

Dean spins around, the plastic seat cushion squeaking under his ass, to find his gigantor brother standing behind their table, his hands in his pockets and one leg kicked out.

Sam looks to the hunters across from him and nods in greeting.

"Long time no see," Sam says, his mouth quirking up.

The hunters mumble a greeting back.

"Only been about a year, right?" Ezra says with a frown. Dean's stomach turns a little. He regrets ordering the extra side of pancakes. Finding out that his brother still occasionally hunts is another thing that's gonna take some time getting used to.

Sam shuffles into the booth beside Dean, folding his giant legs under the table the best he can. Dean slides over on the bench to give him some room and ends up practically in Cas' lap, throwing an arm around his shoulders to better fit him against his side.

Cas settles into their new seating arrangement like a champ, practically melting into Dean's chest and tugging his arm tighter around his shoulders. Dean looks to the side to find Cas staring at him, the look in his eyes one of pleased surprise. Cas looks good like this. Blue eyes wide, dark mess of hair matching his black pea coat perfectly. Tucked under Dean's arm in some novelty diner like they're teenagers in the '50s on a second date.

They haven't been on a date in a while. Dean’s gonna fix that, as soon as this is over.

Sam coughs loudly enough for Dean clue back into reality, and then speaks up.

"If you've gotta go to work I'd be happy to go interview some witnesses, do some digging. Cas, you up for it?"

His husband and his brother lean forward to look around him at each other.

"It beats grading papers all afternoon."

Dean looks across the table at the hunters staring back at the three of them and shrugs with the arm that isn't draped around Cas.

"Well, I can see I'm outnumbered," he jokes. "And you'll be in good hands," he says, more seriously, "as long as they don't try any more B&E's that is."

"Oh my god, Dean, that was one time," Sam whines.

"No. No, Sam, it was twice," says Dean. "That thing with Metatron counts as a B&E."

Sam and Cas groan like their mother just caught them playing video games instead of doing homework, which is likely one of those they would do together, but never individually.

"Alright, alright, I'm going," Dean concedes, tapping Sam's arm to get him to move and pecking Cas on the lips in goodbye. Before walking away from the table and out of the diner, he throws a couple bills down that should cover breakfast and with a final wag of his finger, points to Sam and Cas and says, "Behave."

Sam rolls his eyes but Cas raises one eyebrow like a challenge. Dean figures it's better to get out of there before that look gets any more heated, and with a final jaunty wave to the other half of the table, exits the diner.

The bell chimes above his head when the door swings open and shut. He looks back through the window to see five heads bent over the photos and newspaper clippings and prays to whoever the fuck is listening anymore that they're doing the right thing.


	5. Chapter 5

_February 2018_

_The next day, they drive back to the hospital. Castiel has been distracted by thoughts of the previous night’s hunt all day, his attention lapsing even in the middle of his lectures. It got to the point where he finally just dismissed one of his classes early, unable to concentrate on teaching thermodynamic equations when his thoughts kept returning to the children they’d brought to the hospital last night. And if he knows Dean at all, which he’d like to think he does, he knows his husband has been in much the same state all day._

_Dean walks up to the receptionist and explains the situation, asks to see the same nurse, Christine, they’d spoken with last night.  Last night, when they’d arrived at the hospital in Salina with three very small children in need of checking up, rescued during a truly terrifying hunt._

_Monsters kidnapping anyone is a quick way to ensure their own demise, but kidnapping kids—babies, even—is a whole other level of unacceptable.  Dean and Cas didn’t have a lot of leads, but missing children and a couple of burned down houses was more than enough to seriously alarm them both, enough to prompt them to take on a hunt even when it’s been months since their last one._

_They were lucky, following their few clues straight to the monster’s hideout almost by accident.  She—a monster named Lamia, who got very angry when Dean likened her to a regular lamia—had immediately picked up her spear and jumped to her own defense as soon as they’d showed up, though.  This left them little time to think up a plan or even figure out what would be the best thing to kill her with._

_But Lamia was a creature who was planning on having some helpless little kids for dinner—Dean didn’t even hesitate, just shot her with enough silver and salt rounds to slow her down, giving Cas the chance to disarm her by breaking her spear one minute and stabbing her in the chest with Ruby’s knife the next.  Thankfully it worked, as Lamia gasped and clutched at the ground for a few seconds before falling still, and quickly disintegrating into dust and smoke._

_This of course left Dean and Cas with three crying infants on their hands, probably terrified and hungry and tired. They barely took the time to clean up, grabbing the still intact half of the spear Cas had broken for storage in the bunker, and took all three babies to the nearest hospital.  Now, a day later, they’ve come back to see if they’d recovered well enough._

_The two of them wait anxiously in the waiting area for the nurse to be called down. Dean silently reaches for Castiel’s hand at one point and Castiel holds it firmly, even once Christine arrives and the two of them stand._

_“Hello again. I assume you’re here about the kids?”_

_Dean nods. “I know we had to leave last night, but it didn’t sit right not checking in at least one more time.”_

_Christine nods. “Normally I can’t disclose information like this to non-relatives, but considering what you did, I know no one will mind.”_

_“They are fine, right?” Castiel asks, trying to suppress the mounting terror in his chest._

_“All three are healthy, completely fine,” she assures him.  Castiel lets out a deep breath of relief, feeling Dean do the same. “We’ve already gotten in touch with the extended families of two of them. They’re both currently arranging to take their children back home once we’ve cleared them.”_

_“And what about the third?” Dean asks._

_Christine hesitates before answering. “We’ve gone through all the medical records of her family we can find, based on the info the police have given us, but … there are no wills, no grandparents or aunts and uncles we can get a hold of.  It’s sad to see a family so small, and even sadder it’s just gotten smaller, but there’s nothing else we can do.  We found her birth certificate thanks to the police department, but she’s only just a couple weeks old, doesn’t even have a name listed.”_

_Castiel’s heart pounds painfully in his chest.  “But you do have some arrangement for her, right?”_

_“We can care for her here for hopefully a week or more, but if nothing turns up by then we’ll have to get in touch with the state to have her put into the system for adoption.”_

_Dean stiffens, hand gripping Castiel’s fingers more tightly.  “There’s gotta be something else you can do,” he insists._

_Christine attempts a sad smile.  “We’re doing it. We’ll try anything we can to get in touch with relatives, but if not … I know it’s not ideal, but if it weren’t for you two, she might not even be around for us to look into, that’s gotta count for something.”_

_Just then, another nurse beckons to her from down the hall.  Christine shoots them an apologetic look. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”_

_“No, it’s okay. We won’t keep you,” Castiel tells her, sensing Dean’s tension and desire to get out of here keenly._

_“Okay. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”_

_As soon as Christine leaves, the two of them walk back outside together, but make no move to head back to the Impala, just standing in the waning heat of the setting sun._

_Castiel exchanges a long look with Dean and knows, even without the ability to read his thoughts or emotions, that they’re thinking the same thing. Thinking of all the empty bedrooms upstairs, of how they spent a weekend clearing them out recently, and how Castiel had selected a soft pale green to paint one of the rooms in. Of how, even though they haven’t talked about raising kids much in the last couple months, they’ve both been thinking about it, and subconsciously making a space for a new addition to their small family._

_So what if that person arrives sooner rather than later?_

_“Dean …” Castiel begins, with no idea what words to follow with._

_“I know, Cas, I know,” Dean says, fidgeting a bit, his apparent trepidation making Castiel frown. “It’s a stupid idea, I shouldn’t get my hopes up, I get it.  But I can’t stand seeing a tiny kid like that get sent to a group home, it ain’t right …”_

_His frown deepens. “Dean.”_

_“No, you’re right, it is stupid. Those old criminal records of mine aren’t exactly gonna vanish if they find ‘em, you’re still only a real person so much as your fake documents say … And even if we did somehow get all our ducks in a row and get approved, hell, we both work, we’d have to redo some parts of the house, it’s way too much—”_

_“Dean,” Castiel interrupts, stopping the rant before it goes any further._

_He takes one of his husband’s hands in his, gently leading him around the corner where there are no hospital visitors coming and going in their path constantly. He looks Dean in the eyes._

_“I agree with you—that child deserves to go to a loving home, not a fostering institution. Ideally, that home will be with her own family, but if that isn’t possible, then perhaps that loving home could be with us.” He takes a deep breath. “Yes, it’s unexpected, but it’s also exciting—and fortunate that we already painted the empty rooms upstairs.” This makes Dean snort. “We would have to make some adjustments to our lives, but we’ve had a lot of practice doing so over the last few years. And … I think you would make an excellent father. And if I am to raise a child, there’s no one I would rather do it with than you.”_

_A smile Dean can’t seem to contain anymore appears on his face. After a moment, he says, quietly, “I think you’d be a pretty great dad too, Cas.”_

_“Then I see no reason why we shouldn’t at least propose this idea to Christine.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Dean uses their linked hands to pull Castiel in. His head tips down so their foreheads lean against each other slightly, their faces close, eyes closed, the two of them sharing the same air._

_“This is pretty … unconventional,” Dean says. “Probably won’t work out. It might fall through the second we bring it up.”_

_“It might. But it might not,” Castiel rationalizes._

_Dean exhales deeply, his breath washing over Castiel’s face. “Gotta admit, Cas, I’ve got zero idea how to do … any of this. I mean, adopting is gonna be a long-ass process as it is, I don’t wanna think about how many documents Charlie’s gonna have to forge for us.  But actually raising a kid? Sammy was one thing, this is—”_

_“A lot more, I know,” Castiel assures him. “I have even less of an idea of how to do this than you. As much as the idea of being a father excites me, it also terrifies me.” Before Dean can interject, he holds a hand up in the meagre space between them. “But I have you, and vice versa. We have many friends and family who will be more than happy to offer us assistance. And as for the rest …” Castiel offers Dean a wry smile, squeezing his hand gently. “We have a fairly good track record with making it up as we go.”_

* * *

There are many things Castiel’s human mind has forgotten or let fade, but meeting his daughter for the first time is not one of them. Mary Charlotte Winchester, as they eventually named her, came to them as a little bundle of blankets, practically dropped into their arms, her young life already marred by the supernatural creatures that haunt the night. But when Castiel sees the energetic and perpetually happy child she’s grown into, he can’t find it in himself to regret abandoning hunting and settling into domesticity with Dean, not one bit.

Hunting brought him Mary, and she brought an end to hunting. To that end brought another beginning; his son.

When he and Dean decided that acquiring real jobs was going to be part of having a normal life, Dean’s choice of profession came easy to him. His knowledge and experience in working with cars was unmatched, and with a few forged qualifications from Charlie, any mechanic shop would have been mad not to take him in. Luckily, Dean found one close to home and after a few years working there his boss retired and left the ownership to his two most trusted and hardworking employees; Dean, and one of Dean’s favourite co-workers, Sandra.

Castiel, on the other hand, had a slightly more difficult time finding a suitable human profession. With a world of possibilities and no nostalgic connection to any specific occupation, he flirted with a few ideas. Writing, he discovered, he was terrible at. His love of wildlife could be molded into some professions, but he preferred to just garden as a hobby. What he found instead, was teaching. With his enormous wealth of knowledge, he figured it might be of good use to pass on some of those things.

It's why he started out in history. Charlie forged some documents for him, relatively easily—easy for Charlie, that is—and he applied for a teaching position at the local community college in town. It was when he switched to teaching physics though that brought another dramatic change to their lives.

He made fast friends with one of his brightest most promising students. Lindsey was driven and exceptionally bright. She'd been accepted to four different Ivy league universities and had settled firmly on Berkeley until something unexpected happened. She got pregnant, and with little support system, had to opt out and applied last minute to community college.

She was a good student, always engaged in class discussion, handed lab reports in on time, and came to all his office hours to ask questions later. One class, more than half way through the semester, he'd forgotten his lunch at home and Dean and brought it, Mary along with him. Apparently, there was something special about the way his face lit up at the surprise visit from his daughter. At least, that's what Lindsey said when she showed up to his follow up office hours, slammed the door shut behind her and asked him if he and Dean would take care of her baby once it was born.

After countless of meetings with social workers, school administrators, adoptions agencies, and of course Dean, six months later they stood outside a hospital room in the maternity ward and clutched each other's hands tight as they heard their son's first cries in this world.

They named him Robert Steven Winchester. Robert, after the man who had been more a father to both Dean and him than either of their own had, and Steven upon request from Lindsey. She never said, but Castiel always suspected it was the name of the boy's father.

Castiel hasn't seen Lindsey since that day. She sends a postcard every once in a while, but she likes to keep her distance. They are slowly explaining things to Robbie, but he's young still. Castiel hopes that one day, she'll be okay with meeting him.

For now though, what they have is a good arrangement. That goes for everything in Castiel's life, hunting included. His children and hunting have never co-existed in the same world together. He's always thought of it as the universe's way of balancing itself out. The two things cannot exist simultaneously.

That’s why it feel a little strange when he gets out of Sam's Prius, glances down quickly at his phone, his home screen a photo of Mary baking in Dean's apron, and steps out into what is effectively a crime scene.

On any regular day, it would just look like a regular house on a row of other nice, quiet houses but the crime scene tape and cop cars parked on the side of the street are a dead giveaway that something is amiss.

The driver’s side door slams shut and Cas turns to see Sam staring up at the house with the same apprehension and worry he feels reflected in his own face.

“Did you bring my badge?” Castiel asks and he sifts through his large pockets for a moment before pulling out a now rather tattered black leather badge case. He comes around to the front of the car and Sam follows, handing him the badge. It’s an unfamiliar weight in his hands, being that he never used it much in the first place, but also hasn’t touched it once in the past five years. The photo of himself inside it is more than fifteen years old, but he supposes he hasn’t changed too much. Maybe a couple extra grey hairs.

A red truck rumbles up beside them sounding very much like there is something wrong with its engine. Dean would love to get his hands under that hood—he’s often talked about getting a truck, but Castiel is still opting for a minivan himself.

The passenger side window rolls down and Izzy pops her head out. “We’ll park and meet you guys inside, yeah?”

“How are you three going to pass as federal marshals?” Sam asks, making a very good point.

“We’ll be your interns. Volunteers,” Izzy suggests. “Don’t worry about it, they’ll buy anything that flashes a badge at ‘em.”

Castiel thinks that is a frankly absurd plan and takes it upon himself to say so.

“No one is going to believe we’ve brought three interns to meet some witnesses,” he says. “One of you can come.”

A loud call of “Dibs,” is shouted from the driver’s seat and after a car door slam and the sounds of quick footsteps follows, Wendy appears from around the truck, looking more chipper and excited than one should be in such circumstances.

Izzy rolls the window back up, presumably hops into the driver’s seat, and the truck pulls down the residential street, looking for a space in the sparse parking. Castiel, Sam and Wendy begin their brisk short walk to the front door.

“You got a plan, exactly?” Sam asks, rapping on the wooden door with his knuckles.

Castiel sighs deeply and shrugs, “Not really.”

“Winging it then?”

“Works for me.”

A blonde woman opens the door. She looks tired and worn, eyes red-rimmed and mouth turned down.

“Hello ma’am, I’m Agent Dashwood this is my partner Agent Bennett,” Sam says assertively, flashing his badge. Castiel does the same. “This is Kathryn; she's interning in our department right now. We’re here about the disappearances.”

She doesn’t even bat an eye as she nods and steps away to let them in the door.

“Are you related to Mr. and Mrs. Martinez?” Sam asks once they’re inside, though it’s obvious to Castiel at least that she must.

She nods sharply. “Tony is my brother,” she says, her voice weak and hollow.

Footsteps alert them to the fact that two police officers have entered the hallway.

“Can we help you fellas?” the one on the left with the thick moustache says defensively.

“Federal marshals,” Cas says in his no-sugar-after-eight-o’clock voice. The police officers raise their eyebrows, but check over their badges and thankfully find everything in order. Wendy gets a free pass as she stands stoic behind him and Sam, seemingly just blending into the crowd.

Ms. Martinez shows them to the living room where a number of local police officers mingle around the room, going over case notes and taking more pictures.

"Can I offer you cookies?" Ms. Martinez sniffs, gesturing down at a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a pot of tea. "I bake when I'm stressed, sorry."

"Don't be." Cas shakes his head, offering a smile. "My husband is the same."

He plucks a cookie of the plate and takes a bite. It's still warm, the chocolate chips semi melted. Under better circumstances, he would ask her for the recipe. He spots two children sitting in the dining room across the hall from the living room. A young girl and an older boy. They're older than Mary and Robbie, but the age difference is about the same.

"Have the police talked to your niece and nephew yet?" Ms. Martinez turns to look in the same direction as Castiel.

"Not really." She shakes her head.

"Would you mind?" Castiel gestures to himself and then towards the dining room.

"By all means."

Castiel gestures that Wendy should follow him but Sam stays behind to get some info from the police officers.

The children don't look up when Castiel and Wendy enter the room. The boy seems intent on playing some sort of handheld video game device, despite the ruckus going on around him. The girl has a dozen crayons sprawled out in front of her and is doodling away on some blank sheets of paper.

"Hello," Castiel says, clearing his throat and sitting down on the chair closest to the doorway, and Wendy takes the open seat beside the girl.

Both children ignore him in favor of continuing their activities, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Hello, my name is Agent Bennett, I—”

He used to be bad at this. Interrogation, or witness interview even, especially with children. He was always too direct, never soft enough with them, but Mary and Robbie have smoothed his edges slightly, and he thinks of them this time before speaking.

“I was wondering what you’re drawing.”

The young girl looks up at that. “My family.”

“Is this you?” he asks, pointing to the smallest blue stick figure with long black lines for hair.

She nods. “And my brother.” Her tiny finger pokes the paper beside his, hovering over the slightly taller stick figure.

They both stare at the final two figures, far taller than the first two and holding hands beside a row of hedges, a facsimile of the one that stands outside this home.

“These are your parents,” Castiel says. The little girl sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and nods, her head tipped down. Castiel knows what stifled cries look like and his heart breaks for this young family. He looks at the boy to his left, who's abandoned his game for now.

“Do you remember the last time you saw them?” he asks, but the boy isn’t looking at him, he’s focused solely on Wendy.

“Can I touch your eyebrow thing?” he asks, pointing to the metal hook pierced through the tip of her eyebrow, just one of the many piercings that dot her facial features. He expects her to refuse, but to his great surprise, tips her head down closer to the boy and lets him roam his small fingers over it gently.

“He had one of these,” the boy says and Cas double takes, looking at Wendy who bears the same expression of confusion.

“Who did?” Wendy asks her new friend.

“The man who was outside our house,” he says as Cas’ heart beats wildly in his chest. Did this boy see something before his parents were taken?

“Did you tell the police about this man?” Castiel asks, looking from the boy to his younger sister, who appears to be just hearing of this now.

“I just remembered now.” The boy frowns up at Castiel, his eyes suddenly shining with tears. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Not at all.” Castiel holds his hand out on the table for the crying young boy to take, but he doesn’t hold it, favouring to throw his head into his hands instead. He wants to console the boy but as a federal agent on this case, and not a social worker, he worries it would be inappropriate.

Castiel turns in his chair to search for assistance, hopefully from the boy’s Aunt, and finds Sam, a police officer, and Ms. Martinez walking towards them. Sam frowns when he sees the scene before him, tapping one finger on the file folder in his hands.

“He just … started crying,” Castiel explains poorly when Ms. Martinez rushes around him to fuss over her nephew.

“He also said that he remembers seeing a strange man around the house before your brother went missing,” Wendy says, nodding at the boy for confirmation.

Ms. Martinez gives her a wild, confused look. “Is that true, baby?”

The boy nods. “Mommy and daddy didn’t recognize him, he had one of those—” He points to the piercing again. “—and scary teeth.”

Sam shuffles beside him and Castiel knows exactly what he’s thinking. Vampires.

One of the police officers asks Castiel to vacate his seat, likely so he can get a statement from the boy, and Sam drags him off down the hallway to a quiet corner of the house, opening the file folder in front of him.

“Vampires are one thing, Cas, _this_ is something else.” Sam taps his finger against a picture pinned to a police report about the case.

“Is that a snake?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Sam huffs, “nailed to a freakin’ block of wood, painted in blood, and hanging over the Martinez’s front door.”

It’s gruesome sight and Castiel prays the children never saw it.

“A similar one was found at both of the previous crime scenes. Apparently it was too horrifying for the police to release that particular detail, which is why our young hunting friends never heard about it.”

Speaking of the hunters, light footsteps announce Wendy’s arrival to their small hallway hideaway, her eyebrows raised.

“Did you guys find something?”

Sam shows the photo to her as well, and surprise and horror mar her thin face.

Castiel feels that they’ve found out everything this crime scene has to offer, and thanks the officers for their help, giving them a card with a fake FBI number on it, a holdover from their old hunting days. He knows Sam slips the photo into his jacket pocket and crosses his fingers that Wendy either won’t notice or won’t comment.

Thankfully, they make it out of the house without being charged with interfering with a crime scene, or some equally reputation ruining crime, and turn down the street to meet the other hunters at the truck.

“Turns out that gut of yours was right, Izzy,” Sam says, holding up the photo of the hung snake to the driver’s side window. “Hunting skills, maybe not so much. One of these was found at every house the parents were taken from.”

Ezra—who’s climbed into the passenger seat by now—and Izzy observe the photo with a mix of horror and confusion.

“We never came across this in our investigation,” Ezra says, shaking his head.

“The police didn’t release details to the public,” Castiel explains.

“Then how did you find it?” Izzy asks.

Sam rolls his eyes sardonically and scoffs, “Do you know how long I’ve been doing this job?”

The three hunters look at each other a little timidly and shake their heads.

Castiel has never thought of himself as a particularly good hunter, always a little too harsh or soft and always at the wrong time, but he likes to think that his best hunting experience he learned from Sam. Dean was always too distracting, too many personal interferences complicated the possibility of a purely working relationship, and Castiel too infatuated with ensuring his safety and happiness above all other motivations.

Now, while Sam seems to be glad at the least that they’ve discovered a more concrete connection between the cases, he knows that Dean will be anything but.

* * *

“Fucking fantastic. So there’s some snake-hugging Jefferson Starships featuring a shifter swiping people in our town, just peachy,” Dean rants, in a low enough voice that their children watching TV in the family room can’t hear them.

Castiel finishes slicing the last tomato Dean asked him to cut up, and throws it into the already sizzling pan that Dean is stirring. Like Castiel suspected, he hadn’t taken to the news kindly that there was indeed a hunt here at play. He had been in a foul mood ever since Castiel brought him the news after he came home from work.

Dean did, however, agree to meet up with the hunters again tomorrow at the bunker—Sam’s idea—to get some groundwork done on figuring out the confusing hunt.

“Whatever,” he says, shaking his head and pouring some olive oil into the mixed vegetables frying in the pan. “I just hope our hunting buddies figure it out for us before tomorrow morning.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Castiel nods and hands Dean the jar of garlic cloves his wiggling fingers are obviously searching for. “Although I am looking forward to seeing the bunker again, as well as Jody. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” Dean nods his head indiscriminately, “that’ll be good. I just wish it was under better circumstances.”

Castiel nods in agreement. Better circumstances is exactly what they need right now.

Their children, fantastic as they are, pick at their dinner and complain about having peas instead of corn. Something like this would usually tick him off slightly, and he’d tell them to eat what’s given to them, but the image of those young children that had lost their children today made him a little soft.

Instead he scoops the peas into a Tupperware with the rest of the leftovers for his and Dean’s lunch tomorrow. He refrigerates the containers and then starts in on the dishes as Dean puts the kids to bed.

The case is undoubtedly starting to weigh on him, and also invade his life, at least his mental focus on it. He nearly drops a plate twice as he’s moving it between the double sink, and slices a cut through the tip of his finger while diving for a knife.

Dean just has to come back down stairs at that exact moment of course, looking delectably sleep-ready in his soft t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. He takes one look at the blood dripping from the tip of Castiel’s finger, shakes his head and wordlessly rips a piece of paper towel off the rack.

Castiel thinks he’s going to hand it to him and start in on dishes, but to his pleased surprise, rips a smaller piece off and steps into his personal space to hold his hand gently and wrap the paper towel around his finger, holding it there with just the right amount of pressure.

Dean brings it to his lips and presses a quick kiss to the wrapped cut.

“You okay, babe? Lookin’ a little unfocused there, and you didn’t give the kids shit for not eating their peas.”

He lets his shoulders fall and leans forward into Dean’s broad chest. Strong arms come up to wrap around his back and hold him tight, and Castiel drops his head onto Dean’s shoulder. They stay locked in that tight embrace for a while, breathing deep and slow against each other, Castiel’s hurt fingers curled into Dean’s shirt, resting over his thumping heart.

“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t like hunting again,” Castiel mumbles into the crook of Dean’s warm neck. “It doesn’t feel right.”

Castiel feels Dean’s chest expand with a full inhale and his hands rub circles over Castiel’s shoulder blades.

“Yeah, it’s weird, but we’ll get back into the swing of it,” Dean says. “If not, then it’s only for a couple days and we’re not even taking lead on it.” Castiel tips his neck back a little, to look up at Dean from the side, and nods. “And as long as we act normal, the kids won’t know anything's up.”

Castiel’s heart pangs with disappointment and guilt pools in his stomach as he turns away from his husband’s now undeserved comforting embrace.

“Unless you were having … other ideas?” Dean asks, his tone wavering slightly.

Castiel moves back to the sink to start rinsing one of their dinner glasses, giving his hands something to work with, despite the soreness in the one finger, as he approaches what is now a five-year-long argument gently.

“The thought had crossed my mind that maybe now, with this hunt falling into our laps, that it could be a good time to bring up the idea of monsters to the children.”

He says it quickly and without preamble, because there’s little Dean hates more than platitudes and half-truths.

“Cas—” Dean cuts himself off with a gulp and Castiel chances a look back to find a hurt expression on his husband’s features, his full lips downturned into a frown.

“But I didn’t want to bring it up, because I knew it would make you more upset and you must know that’s the last thing I want to do right now.”

“Well, I don’t know how to tell you this, but bringing up the possibility of me sitting down my kids and telling them I used to kill shit for a living, ain’t exactly making me less upset.”

Dean would be angered more if he said this right now, but Castiel does legitimately find strength and purpose in his and Dean’s arguments, particularly this one. It means that Dean is willing to express his feelings, open up in ways that only Castiel knows how to make him do, and at the end of the day still persevere to make this relationship work, because it’s something they value so high above any small argument that might divide them. This, however, is not a small argument, and often isn’t when the topic comes to how to raise their children.

“I do understand that, Dean, but wouldn’t you agree that now would be the perfect opening to discuss things with them, as opposed to always saying we’ll do it at some nebulous time in the future?” Castiel says.

“Don’t you think they’re a bit young though? And jeez, who ever said we’re gonna tell them at all?” Dean counters, “I know that’s never been where I stand on this.”

“Have you ever considered that position might be a little optimistic?” Castiel says, spinning around again.

“You calling me naïve?”

“No, never,” he says firmly. “But perhaps … misguided.”

“Misguided?” Dean repeats sarcastically.

“Yes,” Castiel nods, standing by his earlier observation. “You’re trying to protect them from things they’ve already been affected by, _particularly_ Mary.”

Dean shakes his head and turns away from him, and Castiel’s mind flashes to numerous in the past where they have ended up in similar positions. The green room with Zachariah. A run down barn with a dead vampire, and Crowley on their tail.

Dean’s taut back facing him, his expressive face hidden from Castiel’s pleading gaze. It’s the same in every way, except the most important one; how deep their trust runs to the core of one another, proven and unbreakable against the test of time and struggle.

“I just want them to be safe,” Castiel implores him to understand. “That is all I have ever wanted for our children.”

Dean slowly turns back to meet his scrutiny again, his gold-flecked green eyes dejected in the dim kitchen light.

“I know, Cas,” he says wretchedly, “but I’m just not ready for that yet. No matter how good a time this might be ... I just can’t do this to them.”

Castiel nods, supporting their efforts on another aspect of their relationship they’re still building on; accepting each other’s feelings as valid, regardless of how confusing the other’s motivations may be.

“Alright,” he nods again, definitively, and Dean exhales properly for the first time in minutes, “I understand, I’m not going to push you for a decision, or to do anything you don’t want to do.”

A small smile returns to Dean’s lips.

“I don’t deserve you, y’know that?”

Castiel tsks and shakes his head.

“The one thing I will put my foot down on is any self-deprecation.” He holds out his hands and Dean blessedly steps forward into them and Castiel is pulled once again into Dean’s exquisitely comfortable embrace. He wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders and hugs tight.

“Okay, bedtime,” Dean proclaims. Castiel means to protest but Dean beats him to it. “No, dishes later, sleep now.” He lets Dean pull him out the room, slapping the kitchen lights off as they go.

He feels a little uncertain about where they stand after their argument and Castiel is restless getting to sleep. He lies next to Dean’s sleeping form, staring openly at his relaxed unguarded face. Castiel has been watching this man sleep since his first steps on this earth, and he is certain that Dean looks far more peaceful in his sleep now than he did even a mere five years ago.

Eventually, Castiel does get to sleep, tucked close to Dean under the covers, their hands clasped over Dean’s pillow, but his rest doesn’t last long. His son’s cries reverberating through the walls wake him with a jolt.

He blinks away sleep from his eyes, rubbing at his face roughly to alieve some grogginess. Castiel pauses for a beat, listening for the sound again, in case it had been a dream, but to his distress, hears another sob and cry.

“Papa?”

Castiel smacks Dean awake, hitting his arm until he rolls over groaning.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” Dean groans disconcertedly. Castiel throws the blankets off both of them and slides his legs around the side of the bed to hop out.

“Robbie’s crying,” is all he has to say before Dean too is scrambling out of the sheets and following closely behind Cas, his padded footsteps jogging quickly down the hallway, past Mary’s room to the end of the hall. He knocks for pretense only before throwing open the door to his son’s room and flicking on the light.

His first instinct is to look sharply around the room for any signs of break in or intrusion, his heart pounding with the thought of such a thing, as it does every time, but finding none, his anxiety quiets some. What he does come upon stepping a few feet into the room is a small lump under a mound of blankets trembling slightly, and soft cries coming from under it.

Dean squeezes his hand once in reassurance before they tentatively step towards the bed together.

“Robbie, it’s daddy and papa. Can you come out from under the covers?” he asks, laying one hand over the shaking pale green blankets, rubbing in soothing big circles.

“No,” comes the sniffling reply. He looks at Dean, who knowingly nods his head.

Robbie has gotten it into his head that after a nightmare, being under the blankets is the safest place you can be. Which isn’t inherently a bad thing, but it does make comforting him a tricky task. Fortunately, one of the teachers at the daycare came up with a solution that seems to work.

“Can I come under then?” he asks, knowing Robbie will reply in the affirmative. Sure enough, a tiny hand come out from the top of the blankets and wiggles its fingers and Castiel hold out his index and middle finger for it to grip onto. He mouths ‘one minute’ to Dean and crawls under the blankets.

It’s pitch black below the covers and it takes Castiel’s eyes a second to adjust, but Robbie reaches for him first anyways, crawling into the crook of his arm.

“So, we’re safe under here, huh?” he asks.

Robbie hums affirmatively, then sniffles. His eyes have adjusted enough to see the shape of his son wiping and his eyes with the back of his stuffed bunny rabbit’s head. The stuffed toy has become somewhat of a comfort to him, especially starting at an all-day daycare this year.

“Did Chester scare the nightmares away?” Castiel asks, rubbing at the bunny’s head.

“Mhmm, he scared away all the spiders.” Robbie nods, clutching the stuffy tighter to his small chest. “Um, I was just cryin’ ‘cause I wan’ed to know if you ‘n daddy were ok.”

Castiel smiles, nods to reassure him, and lets him get away with the lie. After all, trying to comfort Dean and Cas after he’s the one who had the nightmare? Robbie is definitely their kid.

“If you’re scared, Chester can give you a hug too, papa.” Robbie, ever sweetly, holds out the bunny in the space between them for Castiel to take.

“That’s okay, Robbie.” He smiles consolingly, playing with one of the bunny’s floppy ears. “I have your dad to hug when I get scared. But we could ask daddy if he wants a hug from Chester,” Castiel proposes in a ploy to get him out from under the covers. The idea seems to resonate with his son, who nods vigorously and scrambles up towards his pillows.

Castiel sits up in the small twin bed and flips the covers off to help him, picking him up to sit on his lap. He presses a kiss to the top of Robbie’ curly light brown hair and holds him close.

Dean has found a seat on the floor and perks his head up when Robbie holds out the bunny.

“Daddy, Chester wants to give you a hug,” he says, a little sleepily, and shakes the bunny clutched in his hand.

“Oh, awesome!” Dean says with what is likely honest enthusiasm and takes the toy from Robbie’s hands. “I wanna give Chester a hug too, just for keeping my little man safe.”

Dean takes the toy from him and snuggles it into the side of his shoulder, closing his eyes and smiling into the hug. If only the monsters in purgatory could see him now. Sitting on the floor of his son’s bedroom, hugging a stuffed bunny rabbit.

“Thanks for the hug, Chester,” Dean says, giving the bunny a kiss on its head and handing it back to Robbie.

Robbie relaxes back into his hold and Castiel drops his cheek onto his son’s head, looking to his right at Dean.

Dean rests his chin on his palm, setting his elbow on one bent knee.

Castiel closes his eyes, sighing deeply, his tiredness seeping into his bones again. He’s too old to stay up this late. Though it is humorous to think that he is millions of years old, and slept not once for most of those years, but that in only the past few has discovered his need to rest his eyes for at least six hours a night.

He supposes there are many strange things about the new existence he’s chosen for himself.

“Are you going to stay here tonight?” he hears Dean whisper.

Castiel lifts his head off of Robbie’s and nods slowly, opening his eyes when he hears Dean shuffle quietly off the floor. He turns off the light and Castiel expects him to return to their room where their large comfortable bed awaits, but instead he shuts the door in front of him and makes his way over to the plump arm chair that sits in the corner of Robbie’s room. Mary’s has one as well, for this purpose exactly.

“There ain’t no point in going back to our bed if you’re not there,” Dean says, settling into the chair and pulling the blanket off the arm and over himself. Castiel shakes his head, too tired to fight a smile. Dean is too sweet on him.

He picks up his now sleeping son, holding him across his arms like he used to carry him when he was a baby. Castiel lays him to his left side, closer to the wall and away from the door, so Castiel can curl around him under the covers and feel—at least a little—like he’s protecting him from the things outside it.

Castiel settles in the best he can to the small twin bed. It’s likely he won’t sleep well, but at least he’ll be here if Robbie gets scared again in the night. They both will. Small sacrifices are worth it for his family.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor sexual content warning for this chapter.

_October, 2015_

_“I’m sorry, I need some air.” Cas' hollow eyes flick warily around the room before he turns sharply away from the table. Dean watches him walk briskly up the staircase and out the door into the clear fall night._

_Dean doesn’t blame him. The war room is suffocating right now. Packed with the tense bodies of over a dozen hunters, old faces and new, not all of them friends but all necessary to fight the Darkness, the room feels like it's been tightly wound in a coil of fear and impatience. Tomorrow morning is going to be their final crusade against the Darkness. Either they, the hunters—and by extension, humanity_ — _will be around to see the sun rise again, or the Darkness will swallow the world into the shadows forever._

_It’s a little frightening._

_“Is he coming back?” one of the hunters asks, crossing his arms across his chest and glaring at the door Cas just disappeared through. Charlie scowls at him, saving Dean the need to. None of them like the guy very much but he happens to own an army-grade fortified Jeep, so Dean puts up with him. Sam has less qualms about getting up in his face._

_“Of course he’s coming back,” Sam bites back. “He knows how important this is.”_

_“I just wanna make sure we’ve got all hands on deck for this. That there ain’t gonna be no one running scared.” The guy trains his eyes on Sam, sneering an ugly smirk up at him._

_“No one is running scared.”_

_“Oh, he looked a little afraid to me.”_

_“Hey.” Dean’s blood boils at the suggestion, unable to maintain the calm exterior he knows these people need right now. “Look, everyone is scared right now.” He looks around at the wide eyes of the other dozen people in the room and knows they need some sort of reassurance. “That’s okay. You’d be a damn fool if you weren’t. But you can use that fear and turn it into a determination to fight this thing._

_“I’m gonna be honest with you guys: I can’t promise you’re all gonna make it out of this alive. I can’t even promise that I will. But I know I’m gonna keep fighting until my dying breath, and that’s my choice. I can’t make the same choice for you, so if you want to turn back now,” Dean looks to the hunter that challenged Cas' loyalty as he finishes his speech, “then that’s your decision, and no one is gonna judge you for that.”_

_The hunter rolls his eyes and scoffs but Dean pays him no heed. The dude’s an asshole anyways._

_“We’re with you, Dean,” Sam speaks up, throwing him a weary but genuine smile. Everyone else nods their heads in agreement._

_“Alright.” Dean claps his hands together, startling a few people. “Try to get some sleep, or at least some rest; there’s lots of bedrooms and couches. We’ll head out first thing tomorrow morning.”_

_Everyone disperses at that, scuffling away into smaller groups. Dean catches Sam’s eye, finding strength in the solid presence of his brother, as he always has in one way or another._

_Sam motions his head towards the front door in a silent request. Dean nods and follows Cas' earlier path to the stairs and takes them two at a time until he’s pulling open the heavy door and stepping into the cool dark air._

_Another symptom of the Darkness they discovered is that it screws with the temperature. People living in temperate climates around the world discovered that seasonal changes in weather started to disappear, and everything levelled out to around 68 degrees. No snow or rain has fallen in months, and Dean is beginning to forget what wind feels like against his skin. If they do fix this tomorrow, it’s still going to take the world a while to recover.  And if they don’t … well, then lost crops are going to be the least of anyone’s worries._

_The only sound Dean hears when he shuts the door closed behind him is Cas' ragged breath cutting through the stillness of the night. He’s perched by the Impala, face tipped up towards the dark sky, his hands resting on the cool metal of the car._

_“Doing a little last minute stargazing?” Dean asks, his feet crunching on gravel as he walks slowly towards his best friend. It’s a cruel joke, but he doesn’t have to pretend to be strong here, not with Cas._

_“That would be impractical, as there are no stars left in the sky,” Cas deadpans with an undercut of sadness. “But if I were, I suppose it_ would _be a very last minute venture.”_

_Dean slides up next to Cas and rests his arms on the top of the car. Cas' stoic profile is sharply lit under the flood lights they attached to the outside of the bunker several weeks ago, when the street lights finally died and no one came to fix them._

_“They’re still up there. The stars,” Dean whispers in the quiet between them. “We just can’t see ‘em.”_

_“I know. They’re my brothers and sisters, Dean. What’s left of them, at least. We are not granted entrance into the Kingdom of the Lord when our service is finished, but sent to the skies, where we may still watch over humanity in reverence, even in death. I always thought that in choosing a mortal life I would still have the privilege of being able to look up and see them watching over me ... but the Darkness has taken that, too.”_

_“That’s what we’re fighting for, Cas,” Dean says. “I know you’re human and all, but you’ll be able to see your family again.”_

_Cas' piercing blue gaze tears away from the empty sky to stare woefully back at Dean. “No.” Cas shakes his head. “I’m fighting for more ancient desires than that.”_

_Dean’s heart stutters slightly in reaction to that phrasing, or possibly just the earnest and open way that Cas looks at him. He doesn’t quite have the courage to ask what Cas means by that, though._

_“Are you scared?” Dean asks instead, his voice steady._

_“Yes,” Cas answers immediately with a nod. He makes the most human gestures look alien._

_“Any regrets?”_

_Cas frowns at the question. Dean instantly wants to swallow the words back up for fear of the answer._

_“Not exactly, but ...” A crease forms between Cas' eyebrows. “I am confused.”_

_“About?”_

_“Is this … it? Is this all there is to human existence? Fighting until you simply can’t any longer?”_

_Right now Dean wants to give Cas every good thing he can squeeze out of the crappy world. Every perfect memory and every fantastic feeling, he wants Cas to have it all. But all he has to give is a listening ear, and some hopefully comforting words._

_“What did you want?” Dean asks, giving into the magnetism between them and stepping impossibly closer._

_“I wanted you.”_

_The silence that falls between them could give the artificial stillness that the Darkness brought a run for its money. Cas' eyes are fixed on his, honest, unwavering._

_“Wanted?” Dean breathes out finally, heart pounding so loudly in his ears that it drowns out the sound to him. The words are barely a whisper, but his face has drifted so close to Cas' by now that there’s no way he missed them. Dean doesn’t breathe for several long seconds, awaiting the answer, until Cas, braver than Dean has ever been, clarifies._

_“I still do.”_

_Cas looks shocked at the admission, the world around them going quiet in the wake of his words. Dean doesn’t give him the chance to second guess himself for long._

_Cas' lips are warm beneath his, and in comparison to the eerie chill of the night, the contact sparks a fire that heats him to the core. Dean’s hands drag away from the cold metal of the car and land on Cas' sides, seeking some of that human warmth for themselves. Soft fingers find their way into Dean’s hair and Dean pushes their kisses deeper as he holds Cas closer around the waist._

_Maybe Dean was wrong. If nothing else, maybe he can give Cas this one paradisiac memory to savour for as long as tomorrow lasts, because this feeling has to be the purest form of ecstasy in the world._

_There is nowhere Dean would rather spend his final night than here with Cas, trembling in each other’s arms under the starless sky._

* * *

“Damn, I’ve missed this place.” The heavy door slams shut behind Dean as he looks out over the balcony on the top of the stairs in the war room.

A familiar wooden, musty smell fills his nostrils. He inhales deeply the sense of nostalgia, looking down over the Men of Letters’ bunker.

“Miss it enough to move back?” Cas teases as he makes his way down the curved staircase. He yawns as he takes another slow step down.

The two of them barely got a wink of sleep last night, but Cas especially, cramped up in the small bed, woke up grumpier and groggier than usual—which is saying something. The armchair is surprisingly comfortable, but Robbie kicks in his sleep and apparently Cas got a few too many knees in the stomach to get any real rest.

He and Mary were kindred spirits this morning with the whining; Mary, because she found out they “all had a sleepover without her,” and Cas, because he was “too tired to go to work.” He managed to appease both of them with a promise of a weekend sleepover for Mary, and a call to Cas' TA to fake a sick day.

“Aw, shut it. Not a chance,” Dean scoffs, following down behind him. They reach the main floor and Dean just stops, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and takes it all in.

The big table, the lamp he’s had to fix on multiple occasions, the book shelves lining the walls. It feels like the first time he walked in all over again, with the added factor of recalling a lot of memories he’s had in the place.

When Sam walks out from the left hallway, likely coming from the library, Dean feels like he’s been thrown back in time. In many ways, he figures he has. Team Free Will, back on a case together. It might as well be 2012.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Sam jokes lamely, pulling Cas in for a one armed hug and opening his arms for Dean. He considers, briefly, shoving him off and telling him to quit acting like a softie, but he doesn’t see his little brother often enough anymore, and yeah, he misses him. So Dean lets Sam wraps his bear-sized arms around him and squash him tight.

“Hilarious, Sam,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.

“So.” Sam pulls back and lifts his arms in a display. “D’you like what I’ve done with the place?”

Dean looks around, taking in the library and war room a second time, just in case he missed something the first time. He frowns at Cas, who gives him a similar look. They shake their heads in sync.

“It looks … the same, dude.”

“It’s not.” Sam’s face falls. He points at the bookshelves. “I re-organized the books by alphabetical order descending and then chronological date of release.”

Cas makes a noise similar to the one he made when Mary brought a wild rabbit from the backyard inside and asked if she could keep it as a pet. Also known as, utter delight.

Sam laughs at Dean’s eye roll, and Dean sits down at the table while Cas goes to excitedly examine the bookshelves.

“Beer?” Sam asks, pointing towards the kitchen.

“Um … is there any coffee?” he asks, rubbing at his temples. Cas hoarded all the coffee this morning and he’s running on empty.

Sam looks absurdly happy and he nods. “Yes.”

Dean lets him run off to the kitchen without another eye roll. Sam has a right to be happy, he supposes. Cutting down on his drinking is something Dean’s privately kinda proud of. No one is taking away his damn eggnog on Christmas, and they keep a six pack in the fridge when the World Series is on, but the day-to-day stuff?  He’s cut back a lot.  Sam and Cas like to emphasize how proud of him they are.  Dean likes to shrug it off.

He supposes the bunker is the place that made him love coffee. The same probably goes for Cas, for that matter. Coffee was always shit at roadside diners and the like, but there was something about sitting down with a nice mug in his pajamas, and leaving a mug out for Cas to pick up when he woke up? That made Dean feel at home.

Speaking of, Cas finally turns away from the bookshelves, one clutched in his arms still.

“You taking back mementos, Cas?” Dean teases. It’s so strange to see him back here in this context.

“I’ve been meaning to bring this back for a while,” Cas says, setting it down on the table and leaning back against the edge. “It’s been longer than I thought since we were here last. How are you feeling?”

Dean ponders it for a moment and decides it’s better to be honest. “A little weird but … good, in a way.”

“Thinking about all the great memories we made here?” Cas asks with a knowing twinkle in his eye as his fingers dance on the table behind him. “Like the time on this table?”

“Well golly, sweetheart, which one?” Dean laughs, vividly recalling the multiple orgasms he’s had on this table.

Cas pulls Dean’s chair out by one leg and sits down on Dean’s thighs, startling him slightly by pulling him by the shirt collar into a deep kiss. Dean closes his eyes instinctively and leans in to the slow drag of chapped lips against his. “Which one did you prefer?” Cas whispers against his mouth.

“Oh, the second, for sure,” Dean says, groaning as Cas readjusts himself on Dean’s lap in a very suggestive way.

“I liked the time in the kitchen, personally,” he says before going in for another kiss.

Dean lets his hands roam up Cas’ chest, over his own old Zeppelin shirt, to cup under Cas’ jaw and tilt his head up to kiss a line down his throat.

“Big shocker there,” Dean remarks sarcastically, his teeth grazing over stubble. Cas has never _not_ been attracted to him while he’s baking, and the tight dark jeans Cas was wearing at the time were just begging for flour handprints on the ass. One thing led to another and next thing he knew, Dean had to throw out an entire batch of extremely burnt cookies.

“Being back here with you is very arousing,” Cas whispers, pressing their mouths together once again, slipping his tongue out just a bit. Dean nibbles over his chapped lips and opens his mouth to say what would have undoubtedly been a proposition when—

“For the love of God, guys … you’ve been here for like two fucking minutes.”

Cas spins off of Dean’s lap to stumble into a standing position and Dean hunches forward, trying to conceal the tightness in his pants the best way he can. Sam is pinning them both with a very unimpressed glare.

“We were just remembering the good times, Sam,” Dean teases.

“Yep, Dean, I’m remembering them too,” Sam says, shuddering. “Just … keep it in your pants, okay? Jody’s gonna be here soon, not to mention Ezra, Izzy, and Wendy.”

“Alright, alright.” Dean holds up his hands, placating. “We’ll save it until y’all are gone.”

Sam rolls his eyes and sets the coffee down on the table with a loud thump, falling into a chair across the table from Dean, presumably to make sure they don’t try anything again.

They don’t, yet, and they’re on their best behavior by the time Jody shows up and he’s drank through his coffee. Jody is, as always, a sight for sore eyes and an absolute sweetheart about everything. She knows with one look that he’s still not okay with everything going on and adjusts her hug accordingly.

Cas and Jody immediately get into a conversation about Claire and her trip abroad and the frequent social media updates they both follow with a watchful eye. Cas is excited for her to have such a great experience, but Dean kinda just wants her back home safe where he can invite her over for dinner a few times a month to make sure she gets some healthy meals while living on a student budget. Her next visit is scheduled a couple weeks from now, and Mary and Robbie will be happy to have her back, too.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this, Jody,” Sam says, handing her the beer she requested. Dean kindly does not point out that Sam was the one to call her in the first place, because Cas made him promise this morning that he would be civil with Sam about this whole thing.

“Anything for my boys,” Jody says, shaking it off like it’s nothing. But it’s a lot, for everyone involved. To ask people to uproot their settled lives and return to jobs more unfairly dangerous than any of them deserve. Jody is at least still a sheriff full time, but from what he’s heard from Claire, it’s turned more into a desk job in recent years.

The heavy door clanging open breaks up their conversation, and the four of them stare as the young hunters descend the stairs, still wearing—in Dean’s opinion—clothes completely inappropriate for hunting.

“Jody, this is Ezra, Wendy and Izzy.” Sam gestures to the three hunters when they reach the main floor, and they nod and smile.

“I’m Jody Mills, Sioux Falls County Sheriff,” she says professional and domineering, shaking each of their hands and Dean laughs at the façade she’s obviously trying to present. He’s seen Claire and Alex pull too many pranks on Jody to really take her seriously anymore.

Cas pokes him in the side and Dean turns to find a chastising look on his face, silently asking Dean to stop grinning. Dean retaliates by squeezing Cas’ side, alighting a sharp laugh from him. Someone coughs loudly a few feet away.

They look up, a little awkwardly, at Sam’s extremely exaggerated frown.

“What!” Dean exclaims. Sam just rolls his eyes.

“This is why I moved out,” Dean hears him mutter.

“Let’s get some work done, people,” Jody says to the group but nods pointedly in his direction.

Dean’s got a giant-ass tome about snake-derived monsters in front of him, which he flips through intently enough for the first hour, sharing the occasional theory and tidbit of information, but mostly just shaking his head in annoyance and flipping to the next page. By the time the second hour rolls around, he’s bored out of his mind. He can do research just fine, but even when they were hunting on the regular, it was never his favourite thing. He prefers going out and getting shit done, talking to people and looking for clues. Research is fine and all—necessary, usually—but it mostly makes him feel restless and useless.

Rather than risk a dirty look from Sam by going off to another room, he gets up and grabs a new book eventually, even though he’s not done this one, just for something to do, to stretch his legs.

Taking a seat again, he tries to stay focused on the job, but Cas is sitting across from him, his eyebrows knit together in concentration, head tilted slightly. To stave off the boredom, Dean decides to take a break every few pages to watch Cas. Cas is way more fun to stare at than this book, anyway.

During the moments he’s actually reading, he tries not to think about Cas looking adorably rumpled in one of Dean’s soft plaid shirts, or his long, jean-clad legs stretched out under the table when they sit down to do research. Definitely no thoughts cross his mind about Cas' strong deft fingers curled around the edges of an old book, or trailing lightly over maps and newspapers.

The fact is, there’s something about Cas being back in the bunker here that’s just so goddamn hot.

It’s not really where they fell in love, but it’s where they got together. Where they acknowledged that love and confronted it. Where they kissed, and had sex, and on really bad nights, just lay in bed for hours listening only to the sound of each other’s slow breaths and thumping heartbeats.

Their farmhouse is in many ways for their children, for their family, but the bunker was just for them. It’s the last vestige of their old lives, held together with salted iron walls and enough nightmares to last several lifetimes.

Dean’s drawn out of his thoughts when a foot brushes against his under the table. He starts in his seat, eyes flashing up to Cas’. Cas lifts his head and raises his eyebrows slightly, playing innocent, and oh, it is so on.

When Cas turns back to the two books he has in front of him, Dean stretches his leg out and hooks his ankle around Cas’, nudging him. Cas smirks ever so slightly into the pages, and bumps his foot in return.

This continues innocently enough until Dean nearly jumps out of his chair when his leg is nudged by Cas’s foot, suddenly way closer to his crotch than it has any right to be. Dean flushes and glares at Cas, who still doesn’t even bat an eye, the fucker.  

He does bat an eye, though, when Dean toes his own shoe off and sticks his foot up Cas’s calf, under the pant leg. His face goes red and Dean knows he’s got him.

In the end, they only last about five more minutes in the war room with the other hunters, before making thin excuses, like grabbing drinks for everyone and going to the bathroom, _at the same time_. Instead of going to either of those places, they double back and quietly slip away to meet up outside a very familiar door.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Dean says, raising his eyebrows immodestly as he opens his old bedroom door and lets Cas step through first. Cas grabs him by the fingers and pulls him across the threshold as he shuts the door behind them with a quiet click.

Cas is on him before he has a moment to react, guiding him back against the hard door and holding him there with strong hands around his waist, his parted warm mouth capturing his lips in a heated kiss.

The combination of such familiar senses and smells throws Dean back to memories so vivid he feels as though he’s time traveled. The ways they used to grab and hold each other in this very room, far more tentative and wistful than they do now, in Dean’s mind have always marked the end of an old era, and the beginning of a fresh start.

Dean slides his practiced hands up Cas’ jaw and into his hair, pulling just slightly on the long soft strands and thumbs pressing under the bolt of his jaw and behind his ear, spots he knows where Cas is partial to sensitivity. He angles Cas’ head slightly to the right and fits their mouths seamlessly together, exchanging deep breaths between each other.

Cas gives in first and with a long-suffering sigh, presses their already close bodies impossibly closer until Dean feels the hard line of Cas’ cock against his own growing erection. Cas pulls out of the kiss to nibble along Dean’s jaw, teeth grazing against sharp stubble and sending waves of electric pleasure down Dean’s spine.

“How long do you think we have until Sam comes looking for us?” Cas whispers gutturally into his ear, grinding their hips together in slow, tantalizing circles. Pleasant shivers shoot up his spine, and Dean tips his head back against the wooden door. Cas takes the opportunity willingly presented to him, sucking a mark into a soft spot on his throat. It tickles a little and a throaty laugh vibrates through his vocal chords where Cas’ chapped lips kiss over the stinging hickey.

“Enough time,” Dean decides, and his hands slide down Cas’ toned chest to his belt, undoing the buckle claps and thumbing open the button. “We’re not _that_ old.”

Cas smiles against his neck and then gasps, with a full body shudder, as Dean fits his right hand down the front of Cas’ jeans and grips his half hard cock in his palm. Dean smiles and kisses Cas’ temple as he recovers enough to open up the front of Dean’s jeans and free his cock from his briefs.

After that Dean gets lost in the scents of Cas, and his old bedroom, and the pleasant sensations of strokes and pulls of their cocks against each other until his body tightens with the pressure of being so close to release when he realizes that they _cannot_ walk out of here with ruined clothes.

“Wait, wait,” he gasps into a kiss and Cas’ hand stills on their cocks, sliding together in his hand. “We gotta find tissues or something or I’m gonna come all over our shirts.”

Cas sighs almost exasperatedly against his lips. Instead of running quickly to the desk where Dean knows a box of tissues sits, he sinks to his knees and takes Dean’s flushed dick between his lips.

“Fuck, Cas.” Dean’s head thumps back against the door and he lets out an uncontrollable whine as Cas jacks him with one hand while sucking hard on the head of his cock, until white hot pleasure bursts through Dean’s nerves and he’s spilling into Cas’ mouth. His hands find their way into Cas’ soft hair and he holds tight as he rides out the waves of his orgasm, Cas swallowing around the head of his pulsing cock.

As he’s coming down from the high, Cas stands up on shaky legs and Dean gets ready to return the favor, still hungry to feel Cas’ own release, when he spots white streaks of come up the front of Cas’ dark blue t-shirt, and a pleased smile on his face.

“Beat you to it, apparently,” Cas jokes and Dean laughs weakly at his gummy smile.

“C’mere,” Dean whispers in the small space between them and Cas leans forward until their lips join again, kissing slowly in the afterglow. Dean can taste himself on Cas’ tongue and the thought makes his spent cock jump valiantly in response. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Dean tucks his dick back into his briefs, zipping his pants over his sensitive crotch and limps more than walks to his old desk. He whips out a few tissues and walks back over to wipe up the front of Cas’ shirt as Cas tucks his own cock back into his jeans and zips up. Seeing no other option then, he just starts buttoning up Cas’ plaid shirt from the bottom, covering up the stained t-shirt underneath. He leaves the top two open, just how he likes it, and finishes off his handiwork with a long kiss to Cas’ lips. He doesn’t even pull away when he picks out the sound of loud footsteps on creaky hardwood floors and a knock at the door.

“I know you’re in there, guys,” Sam’s exasperated tone echoes through the hallway just outside the door.

“Just in time,” Cas whispers and with one last kiss to Dean’s lips, pulls away and takes all that lovely warmth with him. Dean saunters over to the door and throws Cas one long apologetic look before unlocking and opening the door to reveal a very put-out Sam.

“What?” Dean exclaims at Sam’s crossed arms and frowny face.

“What?” Sam mocks. “Dean, we’re supposed to be working on a case, not fooling around in our old bedrooms.”

“Well, I was bored!”

Cas side-eyes him, looking offended.

Sam sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes before walking back down the hallway from where he came, a silent command to follow.

“C’mon Sam, Cas and I haven’t had sex in the bunker in years,” Dean groans, teasing him on purpose as it is his job to do so, being the older brother and all. Cas snorts a laugh behind him and Dean throws a wink back at his disheveled and blushing husband.

“Oh my god, why are you so obsessed with having sex in the bunker, Dean?” Sam whines, still leading them back towards the war room. Dean gives the likely rhetorical question a serious moment of thought.

“I don’t know, it’s my home, or it was for a while. I guess it always felt kinda special banging my boyfriend in a place I could call my own. Right, babe?” he adds.

“Yes, Dean,” Cas says.

“Well, the Impala was also your home,” Sam says as they round the last corner to the main room.

“What’s your point?” Dean asks, poorly concealing a smirk. “Cas and I had sex in there lots of times, too.”

The rest of their hunting troop catches the last bit of his retort and the exasperated eye roll he gets is multiplied by four when Jody and the hunters realize what they've been up to.

Whatever. Dean doesn't let exam season destroy their sex life, he's sure as hell not about to let this hunt do it.

In the time they've been gone, Sam has identified three areas they can focus on this afternoon by splitting into groups; one research team at the local library, one team in the bunker calling some hunters nearby for advice, and one group scouting out possible monster hot spots in the area.

Dean, seeing the immediate opportunity in spending some alone time with Cas, vies for bunker duty, but Sam calls him out on his obvious alternative motivations and volun-tells him to go looking for monster camp. Sam, generously, lets him keep Cas.

They bring a lore book on supernatural creatures symbolically tied to snakes, a map of the surrounding Kansas woodlands, and with a few final words of advice from Sam about staying on task, they're off.

* * *

It’s their job to travel up and down the wooded areas between Lebanon and Concordia, going off minimal clues and searching for anything that might resemble monsters dwellings or places to hide people—dead or alive. Privately, Castiel is of the belief that the gruesome snake hanging are just a display of the monsters’ prowess and cruelty, not something inherently indicative to the beast itself.

Sam, however, has other ideas, and since he seems to be taking the lead on this case, Castiel is letting him decide which are important leads to follow. If it doesn’t pan out though, he plans on making his case for alternative avenues of search, namely figuring out what connects the victims.

Castiel also makes sure not to lose track of time, as their children do need to be picked up from school in a few hours, and Dean should probably pop into work for a little while. So when they reach a small hiking trail just on the outskirts of their town, Castiel sees it as his last chance to have an awkward but necessarily conversation he’s been meaning to bring up all day.

“Have you thought any more about our … disagreement?” Castiel asks searchingly and sees Dean shuffle awkwardly out of the corner of his eye.

“I guess so,” Dean says defensively, kicking a stone out in front of him.

“And …” he pushes, apparently too hard.

“And fucking what, Cas? I still don’t like it,” he replies harshly.

“You don’t like that our children will be armed with knowledge of the world in a way their peers won’t, that they will understand, fully, the sacrifices you’ve made to give them a better life?”

Castiel frowns and shakes his head to himself. He hates knowing that Dean has likely concocted some reasoning for something in his head, that makes perfect sense to him and only him, but he refuses to share it with Castiel. Usually, it’s something extremely self-deprecating.

“What if they don’t see it like that?” Dean says, stopping in his tracks to frown sadly at his muddy boots.

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel stops too, the imploring use of Dean’s full name making him look up, “please do not be suggesting what it is I think you are.”

“Cas, our kids are the only people in the whole goddamn world who’ve never once been afraid of me, or what me being in their lives might mean. Do you get that? Do you know how important that is to me?”

“Yes, but—“

“If they know who I am, if they know what I’ve done, all that’s gonna change.”

Castiel closes the distance between himself and Dean, grabbing him by the shoulders and looking firmly into his eyes, despite the fact that Dean won't meet his gaze back. "Dean, our children think that you are a superhero." Dean's lips turn up in a tiny smile and while his eyes look a little teary, at least it's something, "I'm serious, they think you keep a red cape in the back of our closet and sneak out every night to fight crime on the very perilous streets of Concordia."

Dean steps forward the final few inches and bumps his forehead against Castiel's, his green eyes wide and close. "Are you my crime-fighting sidekick then?"

Warm hands come up to rest gently on Castiel's waist and pull him forwards, teasingly close. "I think …" Castiel frowns. "I'm the love interest …"

Dean's smiling lips capture his in a slow kiss, teasing and promising all at once.

It’s the distractive qualities of those lips he craves so deeply that almost make him miss a shuffling noise amongst the dense trees to his right. They break apart, giving each other a lingering look before stepping off the path and into the first line of trees.

Castiel draws an old angel blade from his belt loop, the unearthly metal ringing with the power of his ancient solidified grace. He hears the noise again, trained ears picking it up from about three feet into the forest and one foot to the right. Dean notes it too and silently motions for them to move forward with a flick of his wrist, and Castiel’s senses spike as he steps forward but before they get any further, someone or something steps out from behind a large tree trunk.

He certainly look like a someone, but there’s something off about his eyes that tips Castiel off that something unnatural is afoot. Also, of course, the long fleshy spike protruding from his wrist.

“Wraith,” Dean says, gripping Ruby’s knife tighter.

“Beauty and brains,” the wraith leers, his voice just that slight bit strange as well. “You’re the package deal, aren’t you?”

Castiel realizes, belatedly, that the wraith is now addressing him.

“Dean is quite smart as well as beautiful,” he says pointedly and Dean shuffles his feet a little as the wraith frowns. “But there is one thing we can’t figure out, and that’s why you would willingly team up with vampires and shape shifters to achieve your goals.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about my goals,” the wraith says, stepping towards him. Castiel recoils instinctively as Dean takes a step in front of him—also instinctively, he supposes. “This ain’t about me, after all.”

“Then who is it about?” Dean growls, clearly growing impatient.

“Well,” the wraith says, stepping forward, “we’ve gotta save some surprises ‘til the end.” And without a moment's pause, he charges, teeth bared and spike forwards, straight for Dean, who buries the silver blade deep in the monster’s heart with ease.

His piercing scream fills the trees and he crumples to the forest floor.

“What the f—” Dean gasps.

“I don’t know,” Castiel says, his heart pounding against his chest.

“No, what the fuck, Cas,” Dean repeats fully this time, determined to let him know how truly appalled at the circumstances he is. “He just ran into my fucking knife, I didn’t even have to try to gank him.”

Castiel stares down at the lifeless humanoid body at his feet, the wound over the wraith’s heart still sizzling and burning from the silver against its skin. Dean is right; little of this makes sense.

“Cas, monsters don’t just come to us. Seek us out, say weird shit, and then impale themselves on our fucking knives.”

“Apparently they do now.” He frowns, exploring their options. “We haven’t hunted seriously since the Darkness was defeated. Who knows what lingering effects it’s had on monsters that we haven’t been able to observe.”

“Maybe, but I’m having trouble believing it made monsters stupid.” Dean shakes his head and stands over the body, frowning down at it with concern. “He said that this wasn’t about him … maybe there’s some head-honcho monster involved.” Dean opens and closes his mouth, almost speaking but holding himself back at the last moment and shaking his head.

“What are you thinking, Dean?” Castiel prompts him, as he always does for Dean to speak his mind.

“I’m thinkin’ that I’m way too close to this case to think properly at all,” he says. Castiel frowns. Dean has worked far more person cases with better skill, so that can’t be what he means exactly. “This was just supposed to be us helping out some out of town hunters, not taking the lead on a family disappearances case in our home town.”

“Is it bothering you that it’s people around us and close to our home?”

“It’s bothering me that it’s people _like_ us, Cas. They’re happy people living in small town Kansas, with two kids ... you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed it, too.”

Sitting in the diner with the three hunters as the details of the case unfolded, it was one of Castiel’s first thoughts. But it felt too simple almost, or too coincidental perhaps. Even too conceited. Dean’s similar concern doesn’t actually give him much hope that his suspicions have some credence to them. It could easily be paranoia on both their accounts.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions in case we end up doing more harm than good—”

“So you don’t see my point then?” Dean says, pushing for an answer.

“That isn’t …” Dean’s eyebrows raise expectantly. Castiel sighs. “Do you want to stop this hunt then?” he asks, giving the control of this conversation back to Dean instead of setting him off further.

“No,” he says firmly, “I’m gonna track this guy’s steps back through this forest and look for monster squatting spots, because we promised to help these kids, and I keep my damn promises.”

With that, he turns away from the body and begins walking further into the line of trees, but not before calling back over his shoulder, “And pick up the dead guy.”

That’s how they end up spending a good portion of the afternoon; traipsing through the small wooded area, avoiding all signs and sounds of hikers, with guns out and a dead man slung over Castiel’s shoulders.

“Dean, can we just find a place to hide the body now and be done,” he huffs after what must be an hour of endless searching, and drops the body on the ground carelessly. Dean stops in front of him and turns around to stare disappointedly at him.

“Gettin’ a little weak there, Cas?” Dean teases. “Last I checked you could pick _me_ up no problem.”

“Yes, but usually when I’m picking you up, you are an enthusiastic participant in the event, not a lifeless body being dragged across a forest,” he bites back breathlessly.

“… Usually?”

“Dean—”

“Okay, okay.”

The find two trees twisted inwards to each other, creating an almost cave-like space, which they shove the body into, covering it with a few large branches and frost-bitten leaves.

Dean straightens up and pats at his jeans and jacket and Cas stared on, confused, until he hears the quiet buzzing sound of Dean's phone going off. He finds it deep in his coat pocket and his face falls as he stares at the screen.

“Oh fuck,” Dean says, staring at his phone with dismay.

“What’s wrong?”

“It's Mary's school. Likely because it's 3:35 and class let out five minutes ago,” he says and Castiel’s heart sinks.

They got so caught up in searching for the monster’s hiding spots the time completely slipped by them. Now, they’re more than thirty minutes deep into a forest that’s another twenty minutes away from the school. There’s no way they can get back in a reasonable time frame.

“Answer that and then call Robbie's daycare too,” Castiel says as they leave the body at the tree, starting a brisk walk back to the trail. “Tell them we’re running a little late—”

“—a _little_ —”

“—but that we’ll be there soon enough.”

Castiel grabs Dean’s sleeve and pulls him into a quick jog, running over fallen leaves and broken branches that lead the way back towards the car, away from the now-forgotten hunt.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, in case we didn’t make it clear enough in the chapter, Kevin is alive. For reasons. He was just too busy working on becoming the first Asian-American president of the United States that he couldn’t make it for all the fun, you know?

Mary’s teacher, Ms. Jacobi—an unnaturally happy young woman—shows her first signs of breaking since the school year started when she opens the door to Mary’s classroom over forty five minutes after the final school bell rang.

“Mr. Winchester!” she exclaims, her eyes desperately tired. Dean feels for her, he really does, but he also just ran through a forest after burying a body and then drove like a madman for fifteen minutes to get here. He doesn’t have time for pleasantries.

“I screwed up, I know, I promise it won’t happen again, just—”

“Daddy!”

He stops at the sound of his daughter’s voice, still excited to see him even though she has no right to be. Kids are like that, though; most of the time they forgive and forget so easily, as if every moment holds the possibility for new experience and to dwell on the past would be to sacrifice that possibility.

They probably don't think about it in such complex terms, hell, he doesn't really either, but Cas explained it to him like that once when he accidentally spilled coffee all over Mary's favourite teddy bear, and she had forgotten all about it the next day. Dean was so worried she'd hold it over him forever, but she loves the thing all the same even with the strong odour of coffee seeped into its worn fur.

He's learned so much from his children about the power of forgiveness. When Mary runs around her teacher and throws herself at his legs, squeezing them tight, Ms. Jacobi gives him a sympathetic smile, and he knows she's learned it too.

"I thought you were never ever coming back, daddy," Mary says as he hoists her up and settles her over his hip. Her short brown hair falls in front of her face when she rests her head on his shoulder.  

"I'm always gonna come back for you, sweetheart," he says, kissing the top of her head and taking the small black and yellow striped backpack from Ms. Jacobi. He slings the small straps over his shoulder and gives a two finger salute to Mary's ever-patient teacher.

Dean carries his daughter back to the car and even though Cas gives him a look that says _she's five, she can walk_ , the way her small hands clutch his shirt tightly as she jabbers in his ear about school that day is worth it.

Next is Robbie's daycare, and even though he can spot a few other kids still hanging around the play area from the car, likely waiting for their parents who work far later than Dean and Cas do come pick them up, Dean cringes a little at the disappointed look on Robbie's face when he climbs into his car seat and Cas buckles him in.

"You alright, little man?" Dean asks, meeting his son's eyes in the rear-view mirror. Robbie nods and then smiles finally.

"I made a picture. Can we put it on the fridge?"

"Of course we can, kiddo," Dean smiles, relieved that neither of the kids seem to be seriously upset by their late arrival, and starts the car.

* * *

Dean feels guilty again when he walks into their house only to be greeted with yet another unpleasant surprise.  

That surprise being six people sitting in the living room, waiting for him and Cas to get home. Because he’d told them to reconvene here after their respective sweeps of the surrounding towns, and promptly completely forgot about it after everything he and Cas encountered this afternoon.

Thankfully, for all that there are three unfamiliar faces to their kids, Sam, Jody and Charlie are most definitely not.

“Auntie Charlie!” Mary squeals, dropping her backpack in the middle of the floor in favour of running up to Charlie, who immediately scoops her honorary niece into a big hug. Robbie hides behind Dean’s legs for a few moments, obviously wary of Izzy, Ezra and Wendy, but after a moment, wanders over to join in the fun and greet his aunt as well.  He’s rewarded with a hug for his efforts, and Dean is so fucking glad he knows Charlie in this moment. She’s immediately started catching up with Mary and Robbie, talking excitedly with a big grin on her face and acting way too enthusiastic about everything the kids tell her, as always. It’s the perfect icebreaker, for the moment, at least.

Meanwhile, Dean and Cas exchange a wary look.  The hunters were supposed to meet here to share their findings before taking off with enough time to leave Dean and Cas to go pick up Mary and Robbie, not still be here when they got back.  

“So much for keeping all this a secret from the kids,” Dean mutters under his breath.

Cas looks unimpressed. “What are we supposed to say?”

“Nothing,” Dean decides executively. “We just pretend they’re some students of yours, or friends of Charlie’s or something. Mary and Robbie don’t have to know why they’re really here.”

“Dean,” Cas says, and Dean doesn’t like the cautioning tone.

“We’re not having this argument right now,” he tells Cas. “We’ve got a house full of people who need an excuse to be kicked out.”

“We don’t have to kick them out, Dean. They’re here, and the children are already happy to see Jody and Charlie. They might as well stay for dinner.”

It’s Dean’s turn to shoot Cas a glare. “Do we have enough food to feed ten people out of nowhere?” he asks dryly.

Cas shrugs. “I’ll check the pantry.” And off he goes to do just that, leaving Dean all alone, trying to keep his cool in the middle of his front hallway.

Just to keep things interesting, his phone rings. Stifling a growl of frustration, Dean fishes it out of his pocket and picks up. As he does, he looks over at the scene in his living room: Charlie playing some clapping game with Mary, Robbie hiding in Sam’s arms and shyly talking to Jody, and Izzy, Wendy and Ezra looking extremely uncomfortable next to two kids on a couch in a regular house.

Then again, Dean supposes he and Sam would probably look like that in this situation too, were it fifteen years ago.

Maybe they wouldn’t be sitting as suspiciously close as Wendy and Izzy are, but hey.

“Hello?” he answers, not checking the caller ID.

“Hey, Dean.” It’s Sandra, his garage’s co-owner. Dean’s stomach drops. “Glad to actually catch you, since I hadn’t heard from you all day. Nice to know you aren’t, like, dead or something.”

“Shit …” Dean mutters into the phone, his free hand pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sandra, I am so sorry.”

“I mean, I know you’re rarely late, and if you are it’s usually for a good reason,” she continues. “But I was gonna close up in less than an hour and was starting to wonder if you were _ever_ gonna come in this afternoon?”

Dean exhales sharply. God, he wants to punch himself. Sandra has been so lenient with him all week, giving him permission to only stop in for the afternoon today, and he went ahead and missed work anyway. Without notifying her at all. Hell, he didn’t even notice himself.

“I was planning on it, I swear I wasn’t just gonna leave you hanging.”

“Well, not to be rude, but you kind of did.” She doesn’t sound actually mad, just annoyed. She ought to be mad at him. He’d deserve it.

“I know, I’m so sorry. Some stuff just … came up, and then there was an emergency, and—”

“An emergency? Is everything okay?”

He stammers, wondering what the right answer is here. Everything is decidedly _not_ okay, this hunt is ruining his fucking life, but he can’t exactly tell her that. “Everything is under control. Just a … family emergency.” _Close enough_ , he decides.

Her tone becomes more serious. “Are the kids okay? Are you and Cas?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine. Just … this is taking up a lot more of my time and concentration than I expected,” he admits.

Sandra hums. “Look, Dean, you and I are in this together at the garage. I mean, I need your help, but if you need some time off, I’m not gonna say no.”

“I …” He doesn’t want to admit this hunt is that serious, but … it kind of is. At least this way, if he takes some time off and it hasn’t wrapped up by the time he has to go back to work, then he’ll know for sure—and so will Cas—that they’ve gotten in way over their heads with this. “Maybe that would be best.”

“Then take the rest of the week off,” Sandra offers. Man, he already owes her for letting him pull half days so far this week. At this point he probably owes her a fruit basket. And a lot of overtime hours. “Just make sure you’re back full time next week, fair?”

“More than fair. Thank you, Sandra.”

“Hey, I got your back, man. Let me know if there’s anything I can do, all right?”

 _Yeah, right_ , he thinks. “Of course,” he says.

They tell each other to say hi to their respective husbands and hang up. Dean breathes a sigh of … not quite relief. His stomach still doesn’t sit right about all this. Regardless of how generous Sandra can be, missing work should _not_ be a result of doing this hunt. Nor should be an unexpected dinner party for all their old and new hunting buddies.

Fuck, and Cas really thinks this is a world they wanna introduce their kids to?

Speaking of Cas, Dean finds him in the kitchen gathering a few half-empty boxes of pasta next to the stove, flipping through a recipe book on casseroles and stir-fry’s.

Dean flops against the island counter across from him. Cas doesn’t bat an eye. “You’re really committed to making dinner for everyone?”

“It seems rude to ask them to leave, as we’re making dinner for our family already.”

“Cas, they’re hunters, not the Queen of England, we don’t have to play host to them. They’ll understand.”

But of course, just then Ezra has to wander over to the kitchen and ask, like he thinks he’s so funny, “Hey guys, what’s cooking?”

“Food. Not for you,” Dean replies.

Cas rolls his eyes at him. “It’s our fault we were late to return. You are welcome to stay for dinner, if you like.”

“Sweet, I’ll tell the girls,” Ezra says, bounding off back to the living room.

Dean groans. “Guess who’s coming to dinner.” When no one reacts, he crosses his arms and dejectedly glares at the floor.

Cas finally looks away from his cookbook. He stands in front of Dean, places his arms gently on Dean’s biceps. “Are you okay?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Dean tells the ground.

Cas sighs. “I’m sorry. If having the hunters stay for dinner is really that upsetting to you, I will ask them to leave. This is your home too.”

“It’s not that,” Dean says. “It’s just a meal, they’re already here, I don’t fucking care.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Just … everything? The fact that we’re arguing about whether or not hunters should stay for dinner in the first place? Didn’t we say we weren’t gonna get so involved in this hunt?”

“We did,” Cas agrees.

“And I mean, Sandra just called to remind me that I completely forgot about going into work this afternoon. And your poor TAs have had to cover, what, just about every class so far this week?”

“I also had to cancel my office hours,” Cas admits. He shakes his head. “This situation frustrates me as well, Dean, but … the easiest way out of it for everyone, to me, seems to be to see it through. After this afternoon? I don’t want to walk away, pretend I’m not concerned.”

“I know. That’s what frustrates me even more. I wanna say adios, don’t let the door hit you on the way out to all of this, but it feels wrong. I mean, I don’t wanna regret getting out of that life, and I don’t, but …”

“But it’s difficult when you remember what’s out there, and how close it can be to home,” Cas finishes.

Dean nods. “There’s no easy solution, huh.”

“No,” Cas says. “None of this is easy.” His hands stroke up and down Dean’s arms comfortingly. “But I have to believe we will escape this ordeal unscathed. And in the meantime, maybe it would be best to just enjoy the company of our friends and family.”

Dean scoffs, but does raise his eyes to Cas' eventually. “Whatever you say, sunshine.”

Cas wrinkles his nose adorably at the pet name, but smiles, too.

“I’m just worried about Mary and Robbie, as usual,” he tells Cas. “Robbie isn’t too fond of strangers.”

Cas makes a strange face, glancing over Dean’s shoulder back to the living room. His expression morphs into an obvious grin. “I don’t think you have too much to worry about.”

Frowning, Dean follows Cas' gaze. He’s prepared to see Mary and Robbie shying away from the new faces, Charlie and Jody awkwardly trying to make not-hunting-related small talk with the others.

Instead, he’s greeted with … an oddly cute sight. Robbie has moved from Sam’s arms to the floor, but now Wendy is sitting down next to him. The two of them look pretty mismatched, Wendy’s dark palette next to Robbie’s blond hair and blue eyes, but both of them are fixated on the picture book laid out on the ground between them. Mary, on the other side of the room, is laughing about something with Izzy, while Charlie brings a box of Lego over, and the three of them begin to dig out pieces and build.

Dean looks back at Cas, narrowing his eyes at the satisfied grin on his husband’s face. “I’m still not happy,” he says. But looking at his kids’ bright smiles, surrounded by Dean and Cas' friends and family, getting along with their new friends … it’s kind of a lie.

“Of course not. Now, help me put together something for dinner. There are a lot of people to feed.”

All through the evening, Dean’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it just … doesn’t. Mary, Izzy and Charlie build a Lego castle. Robbie convinces Wendy and Ezra to read him at least five different books about jungle animals. Toy versions of those same animals are taken out of the toy drawers and become residents of the Lego castle at one point. Sam and Jody team up with Dean and Cas in the kitchen by preparing a few side dishes.

All in all, it’s shockingly, disturbingly normal, a little respite from the craziness of the last couple days. Dean thinks it’s a little weird—Izzy, Wendy and Ezra are all hunters, after all. But then again, so was he. And Cas, and Sam, and even Charlie and Jody at one point, to a lesser degree.

So yeah, sometimes he wonders if leaving hunting to someone else was the right thing to do. Seeing everyone here, talking and laughing and just being _people_ , no hunts or imminent deaths on anyone’s mind, though? Yeah, this is the way it’s supposed to be, he decides.

Dinner is ready in no time, and everything tastes awesome too, in Dean’s opinion. Izzy and Wendy have to put the extra piece into the kitchen table so everyone can fit, but other than that, it’s a damn fine quasi dinner party, if he does say so himself.

Looking at Cas, he can tell he’s thinking the same thing. And it’s not like they’ve distanced themselves from all their friends lately or anything—Sam still comes up regularly, and Charlie, and others visit when they can. But it’s nice, having everyone together like this.

It’s a weird, patchwork family they have, but in Dean’s experience, that’s always been the best kind.

“Once this is over, we should invite some friends up for a weekend, or something,” Dean whispers to Cas.

Cas smiles. “Perhaps when Linda and Kevin would be able to visit. Or Claire, when she returns from her exchange.”

“Kevin’s still gonna be up to his neck in grad school stuff till Christmas,” Dean reminds him.

Cas shrugs. “Then we’ll just have to do it again at Christmas.”

It’s Dean’s turn to smile. They usually celebrate Christmas with lots of folks, but it never gets old. Especially not since the memorable first Christmas they spent in this house as an extended family, Dean thinks fondly, eyes catching on the glint of Cas' wedding ring.

* * *

_December, 2016_

_Dean downs the last dregs of his eggnog with a shudder._

_“Who thought candy-cane flavoured eggnog was a good idea again?”_

_“Claire, if I remember correctly,” Cas says with a grimace, setting his empty cup down on the coffee table and shaking his head. “To be fair, we didn’t have to drink it.”_

_“True,” Dean says._

_Cas looks good, lit by the tiny Christmas tree lights and the retreating flames of the fireplace. The tree looks kind of dumb in Dean’s opinion, a little crooked, a little bare on one side. But Cas felt sorry for it when they were looking around for Christmas trees and wouldn’t be satisfied with any other tree, so eventually Dean caved. He does have to admit it looks a little better now, though, as if it’s brightened up just by Cas’s presence._

_Dean feels like he and the tree have that in common._

_Getting into the Christmas spirit has put a semi-permanent smile on Cas' face and Dean thinks it might be a little bit infectious. It’s their first Christmas in their new house and the past month has been an exercise in trying not to overdo it when it comes to domesticity. Since December 1_ _ st _ _, it’s been a whirlwind of putting up decorations and carols playing on the old record player in the dining room and baking gingerbread in the afternoon; it’s a little exhausting if Dean’s honest._

_Tomorrow he’ll be even busier with Christmas dinner, but tonight, with everyone else either gone to bed or arriving in the morning, he just gets to relax on the couch with his boyfriend._

_He looks to his left at Cas, his eyes closed and head tipped back onto the sofa. Boyfriend?_

_It’s not inherently false, but it doesn’t seem like quite the right word to use either. Not that they’ve really had the “labels” discussion yet. One night as they were going to sleep Dean whispered “Cas, what are we?” to which Cas replied, “Tired,” and promptly passed out, and that was the end of that._

_They could be partners, Dean supposes. That sounds kinda cool, like detectives or cowboys. Life-partners, he would always have to specify though, and that sounds less cool. Significant other, too long. Lovers is just … no._

_Maybe there just isn’t a label for what they are. Maybe they’re just Dean and Cas. They’ve been through so many things together, seen each other at their absolute lowest and accepted that for what it was. They’re kind of like family, but it’s a family that they chose, and fought for, against all odds. They’ve always stuck together and supported each other, even during dark periods of their relationship, because they both know that in the end, having each other by their side is the most important thing._

_If he thinks about it, they’re kinda married._

_Cas opens his eyes at Dean’s sharp intake of breath._

_“Dean, what’s wrong?” Cas says._

_“Nothing I just—”_ It’s so obvious, _Dean thinks. “I want to be married to you.”_

_Cas blinks once. “What?”_

_“I want_ — _will you marry me?” Dean whispers, realising how much he means the words, how much he wants this, as the words tumble from his mouth. Some things in their life are so hard, but in this instant, this is the simplest thing in the world to Dean._

_Cas looks back at him in stunned silence. He opens his mouth to reply but Dean beats him to it._

_“Wait, wait. No, I need to—” Dean stands up, shaking a little—either from the alcohol or the nerves, he’s not sure which. So instead of trying to balance himself, he just kneels down. On one knee. Because apparently that’s how this is going down now._

_Then he takes one of Cas' hands between both of his own._

_“Dean—”_

_“No, shh, I’ve got one shot at this, I’m doing it right.” Cas is smiling now. Not a small one like before_ — _but wide and bright, like it’s Christmas Eve and he’s getting proposed to. “Castiel – wait, shit, I need a ring.”_

_“Dean!” Cas exclaims in exasperation, grinning widely._

_“Shhh, you’ll wake the whole damn house,” Dean says, wedging his mom’s old ring off his right ring finger. It’s the only thing of hers he still has left; it’s only right to give it to the love of his life._

_Dean holds up the thick silver band in the firelight, the twinkling Christmas lights glinting against its smooth surface. The air between them stills to something more serene. Cas has always looked otherworldly, but in this moment with such unadulterated wonder in his eyes, he looks so incredibly, beautifully human._

_“Cas.”_

_“Dean.”_

_“You are … it for me. You always have been. And I know this doesn’t make much sense, because in the eyes of the law you don’t really exist and I’m kinda dead, but I want to be your husband.” Cas takes his hand that isn’t holding the ring and squeezes it tight, tears welling in his startlingly blue eyes. “Will you marry me?”_

_Dean’s heart pumping wildly in his chest must make him miss a beat, because the next thing he knows he’s got an armful of six-foot former-angel in his arms, whispering “yes” over and over again in between frantic kisses._

_Dean manages to make him sit still long enough to slip the ring on, and once that’s out of his hands, takes Cas' face between his palms to kiss him one more time, deeply, before pulling away just an inch, heart pounding furiously with happiness._

_“You sure?” Dean says._

_Cas lays his hands over Dean’s wrists, the ring on his fourth finger pressing cool against his warm skin making Dean’s heart skip a beat. Cas tilts his head to the side to kiss the palm of Dean’s left hand, mouth grazing over the place where another ring will sit one day, and then answers him._

_“You are the only thing I have ever been sure of.”_

* * *

After dinner, Sam and Charlie help him clear the dishes, while Jody and the hunters get dragged away by Mary and Robbie again, who seem to be thrilled to have so many people around to pay attention to and play with them. Cas grabs a stack of bowls—somehow there are still clean dishes in the cupboards—and a tub of ice cream from the freezer before heading out to join them. Dean’s enjoying listening to the sounds of his kids’ giggles and shouts from the living room, so much that he doesn’t even mind when Sam ditches before the sink’s even full to go call Mackenzie.

A couple minutes later Charlie remembers she had something to discuss with Kevin over Skype, and kisses Dean apologetically on the cheek before hopping off to find her laptop, leaving him alone with his thoughts, which are strikingly positive considering the week he’s had.

“Can I help?” Dean turns to the sound of a voice over the rushing water to find Izzy standing over the threshold of his kitchen. He lifts his soapy hands out of the hot water.

“You wanna wash dishes?” He frowns. Izzy simply shrugs and crosses the opening of the doorway, making her way over to the double sink where a stack of plates and glasses are soaking.

“It’s always been my favourite chore,” she says, picking up a sponge and getting to work. “There’s something about it that’s just calming. Maybe it’s just the immediate payoff of the work that I find satisfying."

Dean nods. He can agree with a sentiment like that. Washing dishes also reminds him of his mom a little. She always smelled like lemon soap. It’s the only kind he keeps in the house, and the scent of it now fills the kitchen.

“On the road, living as a hunter,” Izzy starts up again, handing him her first plate to rinse, “there aren’t many dishes to wash.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Yeah, no kidding. The staff at the diners do that for you, I guess.”

“And takeout food doesn’t have reusable dishes,” she adds, her tone hinting at something a little sad, longing. Dean nods again, cautiously.

They clean up in silence for a while, and they’ve made a good dent in the frankly huge pile of dirty dishes when Mary skids into the kitchen, sliding on her socks. Dean’s tried to get her to wear the ones with the plastic pads on the bottom so she won’t hurt herself, but he’s pretty sure she and Cas have a secret plot behind his back to hide all the safe socks. He asked Cas about it one time but all he got in response was a piteous look that implied that Dean had committed an unspeakable crime just by buying those in the first place, so he’s had to let it go.

“Daddy, papa says I can have just one more scoop of ice cream! Can I have a plate?” she says, her brown eyes alight with joy. He sighs, but accepting that he married a guy who stood up to heaven’s armies but is a goddamn pushover to his five-year-old, plucks a yellow plastic plate shaped like a heart out of the clean pile and hands it to her.

“But just one small scoop, okay?” he cautions with pleading eyes. Of course, she’s already out the door before he can finish the request. He shakes his head and turns back to the dishes. Who’s he kidding, he’s a goddamn pushover too.

“They’re really good kids y’know,” Izzy says with a surprisingly fond smile.

Dean grins proudly. “They’re the best.”

Another silence falls after that, this one feels a little more constrained. Dean throws a glance at Izzy every once in a while. She looks more and more distressed with every plate that passes through her hands.

Dean clears his throat. “You spent a lot of time around kids before?”

Izzy shakes her head back and forth. “Here and there, I guess. There’s a lot of kids who need saving, especially in our line of work.”

“ _Your_ line of work,” he corrects.

She looks up at him with sad eyes, making him regret the snappish tone.

“You know, there’s a lot of kids who need saving outside of hunting too.” He doesn’t know why he says it, but it feels like something she needs to hear right now.

“That’s different though.” She frowns, almost like she’s trying to rationalize it to herself more than to him.

“Not really,” Dean snorts. “The world’s a terrible place, even if monsters didn’t exist. There’s no shame in trying to find your own corner of happiness. It took me too damn long to realize that …” He trails off, listening to the sounds of Cas' deep rumbling voice singing some silly children’s song along with Mary.

Izzy gets a faraway look in her dark eyes, like her mind has been transported elsewhere. She doesn’t look sad though, and Dean wonders if she’s thinking of her own little piece of happiness somewhere, and she’s just too afraid to hold onto it.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” she says. “Leaving the life, y’know. Especially … more recently, I guess. I’ve just lived in it for so long, I don’t know what I’d do instead.” She laughs a little sadly at the end.

“Were your parents hunters?” Dean asks, taking a soapy wine glass from her. Izzy nods. “Why aren’t they hunting with you?”

“They died.”

Well, now he feels like shit.

“I’m sorry,” he says with a grimace, stacking the glass upside down in the drying rack. He’s grateful he has something else to do with his hands right now, because he kind of wants to give her a hug.

“It’s been five years. Died during a hunt,” she says sadly. “I still miss them.”

“Yeah, that never really goes away. Sorry, kiddo,” Dean says, wishing he had something better to say. “You know what helps a little bit though?”

She pins him with a waiting gaze.

“Finding a new family. Not to replace the old one, just to fill in the cracks a little. It makes your heart a fuller place, even with all the empty spaces.”

Damn. Cas would say he’s gotten wise in his old age.

“The hunters you travel with, they kinda like family to you?” he asks. Izzy thinks on it for a moment.

“Well … maybe not Ezra so much.” She grins, like it’s a secret joke between them. “Nah, he’s a good guy once you get to know him.” She takes another long pause to scrub at an already clean-looking plate. “Wendy, though … yeah.”

Dean lifts an eyebrow, knowing that tone. So _that’s_ how it is, huh …

“Well, you’d know, I guess.” She shrugs.

“I’d know?” Dean teases.

“Castiel,” she states, like that’s an explanation all on its own. “He’s your new family, isn’t he? The one you chose?”

“Oh, you’re bang-on there,” Dean laughs. She has no idea how right she is.

Izzy hands him the last dish from the sink. He rinses it as she pulls the drain stopper.

“Thank you,” Izzy says earnestly, turning to him with a pleased grin, “for dinner and for … talking this out with me.”

Dean simply lifts his shoulders in a half-shrug and sets the dripping plate into the drying rack. “It’s no problem. Probably good practice I guess. Before I know it I’m gonna have a teenage daughter who’s gonna need to talk about friends and boys—“

“Or girls.”

“Or girls. Fuck,” Dean laughs, “what is my life anymore?”

Izzy smiles, but doesn’t joke when she replies, “Your life is … everything I want.”

The forlorn longing in her eyes nearly breaks his heart, and he’s about a second away from asking if she needs a hug or something when his daughter once again comes sliding into the kitchen, this time a little less sure on her feet. She keels backwards and his heart jumps into his throat as he reaches out, catching her under her arms at the last second and pulling her close to his chest.

Mary, of course, giggles through the whole ordeal.

“ _That_ is why we wear the safe socks, honeybee,” he says, his voice a little shaky. She giggles again.

“Papa says you buy the safe socks because you hate fun.”

Dean’s mouth falls open in mock surprise and he gasps. “Did he now? Is that why he hid all of them on me?”

“Yes.” She nods emphatically and then shuffles closer in his hold, her small hand gripping his neck tightly. “Can I tell you a secret?” she says, already in a whisper.

Dean nods and she puts her mouth right up against his ear. “Papa hid them behind the flower pots on the porch,” she whispers, still loud enough that Izzy who’s been watching this scene play out, huffs a laugh. “But you _can’t_ tell, you _have_ to promise.”

“I _promise_ ,” Dean says, holding up his pinky finger with the hand that isn’t holding her. She unwraps one arm from around his neck to grip his finger with her tiny one.

“Oh no, what have you promised her now?” Cas teases, rounding the corner to the kitchen, holding a dozing three-year-old in his arms and gripping Mary’s ice cream plate in his hands. Dean takes it from him and drops it into the sink. He’ll get it later.

“Nothing you likely haven’t already, darlin’,” Dean whispers and pecks Cas on the lips. “Bedtime?”

Cas’ lips pull up into a smile, and he nods once. “I trust everyone has sleeping arrangements for the night?”

They do, thankfully, because their house is big but it ain’t _that_ big. Ezra, Wendy and Izzy have a motel room booked in town, so they leave first with polite smiles and thank you’s for dinner. Dean gives Izzy a knowing look before seeing her out the door.

Before he crashes in one of the guest rooms in the farmhouse, Sam is going to take Jody and Charlie back to the bunker where there’s undoubtedly enough space for them. They take a little longer to say their goodbyes, but by quarter-to-nine, both Robbie and Mary are snoozing in their parents’ arms and Jody is the one who finally takes the initiative and calls it a night.

Once everyone has cleared out and Mary and Robbie have been read stories and put to bed, the farmhouse takes on its usual quiet peacefulness. Dean spots Cas yawning as he puts away the last of the dry dishes, so he decides to be proactive. He walks up behind his husband and winds his arms around his chest, putting his lips near Cas' ear as he cuddles up to his back. “C’mon, our bed misses you.”

Cas closes the cabinet door and chuckles, leaning back into Dean. “Our _bed_ misses me, is that it?” he teases, but lets Dean pull him away by the hand, slapping the kitchen lights off as they exit the room. “But it had me only last night.”

Dean, as he walks behind him up the stairs, takes in a generous eyeful of Cas’ back and thighs and ass, all under nicely fitted casual attire and curses for the umpteenth time, how hot he is for that middle-aged suburban dad look, but literally only when it’s Cas donning it.

“I think it’s been a bit longer than that …” Dean grumbles and slides a little closer when they reach the doorway to the master bedroom, pressing his lips against Cas’ clothed shoulder.

“Then why don’t you take me to bed, Dean?” Cas whispers, low and welcoming and Dean knows he can’t say no to those hooded eyes.

“Twice in one day, huh?” Dean says, grinning with anticipation.

“Like you said earlier,” Cas replies, lips brushing against Dean’s, “we’re not _that_ old.”

He draws Cas in with a purposeful kiss and walks them through the door, shutting it behind them with a click of the lock. Cas’ long fingers slide through his short hair, pulling him close and sucking on Dean’s bottom lip in a heated kiss.

It still amazes Dean sometimes, not that he has Cas like this now, but that they have a private, locked door to do it behind. That they have a bedroom where they can strip each other of the day’s clothes and fall into their king-sized bed, as they do now.

A sinfully hot and desperate noise makes its way between Cas' parted lips. Dean pulls away with the intent of kissing his way down Cas' jaw and neck to his prize further down, but in a true display of 45-year-old-man-ness, yawns instead.

A big, unattractive yawn, too, that makes water well up in the corners of his eyes. When he opens his eyes again, his husband of six years lying underneath him, stripped down to his boxers, is laughing.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean chastises, his face pinking a little with embarrassment, "laugh it up, asshole. I know, not my best work."

"No, thank you, really," Cas teases, his eyes alight with mirth and crow’s feet crinkled, "for reminding me how flawlessly smooth my husband can be. I almost let you get away with being too sexy there for a second."

"Mhmm, can't have that now, can we?" Dean shakes his head and pecks Cas on the cheek. His embarrassment has quickly faded but it seems along with it, their heated desire from before is mostly gone as well. Which, all in all, is okay with Dean. He’s pretty tired.

“Twice in one day was optimistic, I suppose, with how busy this day has been,” Cas admits.

“I guess we _are_ that old,” Dean mumbles.

Then, to cap off a truly memorable almost-marriage-sex moment, Cas' face breaks into a scrunched-up tired yawn as well.

"Ah hah!" Dean cries, flopping down beside Cas as he rubs a hand over his tired, happy face.

"That was your fault."

"Really, and how is that?"

"Science," Cas says plainly and pulls one of Dean's arms over himself, snuggling in for the night.

"Science?" Dean pries, whispering now in the small space between them, the bedside lamp casting a warm glow over Cas' sharp features.

"Yes. Your yawn triggered my yawn. That's how it works."

"Is that so," Dean says, closing his eyes to the light, still smiling fondly.

"In fact, the closer you are to someone, or the longer you’ve known them, the more contagious their yawns are."

It's not nearly late enough for Cas to be going on such wild tangents yet, but it's been a very long and strenuous day, so Dean goes with it.

"Well." He reaches over Cas to pull on the cord hanging from the bedside lamp, throwing the room in darkness, save for the sliver of moonlight coming through the slightly open curtains. "You and I _have_ known each other a pretty long time."

He settles back in and curls comfortably around Cas, one arm flung over his chest, the other tucked in between them.

"Yes, Dean," Cas mumbles, clearly placating him instead of the long-winded speech he could likely give about the subjectivity of time to an angel. Were he less tired, Dean might take the time to pick apart whether the omission was on purpose, or if Cas is very slowly beginning to more personally understand the importance humanity's place in time.

For now though, Dean just tucks his nose into Cas' shoulder and snuggles in for a warm, comfortable sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

If Castiel was under the impression that they were done with surprise visitors to the house for a while, he’s sorely mistaken when on Thursday morning, a loud rapping on the front door leads him sleepily from bed and stumbling down the stairs quickly. He rubs at his sleepy eyes and unlocks the door to reveal a surprising but at least familiar face.

“Hey Cas!” Mackenzie, Sam’s wife, exclaims far too cheerfully for this early in the morning.

Mackenzie has always reminded him of Sam, in the best ways, of course. She has kind, light brown eyes and a strong athletic build, and always somehow taller than he remembers. Though he is always reminded of her six-foot stature every time she pulls him into one of her crushing hugs, as she does now.

"It's so good to see you!" she says, pulling away and grinning from ear to ear. Mackenzie smiles more than Sam though—likely because she's never been to hell.

"Mhfmm ..." he mumbles, brain still foggy from sleep. "You too."

Mackenzie laughs and closes the door behind her, making herself at home in her in-laws’ house, as he and Dean have always encouraged her to do.

"I always forget you're not a morning person, Cas." She sighs and shakes her head. "A morning jog would be so good for you though—"

He holds up his hands and shakes his head.

"Don't speak of such things until I've had at least one cup of coffee," he jokes—mostly—voice deep and gravelly from sleep.

He leads them into the kitchen, puttering around for mugs and coffee beans as she settles into one of the barstools at the kitchen island.

Castiel doesn't blame her for showing up; it has been a number of days now since Sam left, as his 'archival research' excuse can only go so far. Castiel supposes the real problem here then is that they're four days into a hunt that easily should not have taken this long—although he still is unsure as to whether the length of this case is an indicator that they've grown slow in their domestic age, or an underlying complexity of the case that they simply have not figured out yet. Dean seems inclined to believe it's the latter, but Castiel wonders how much of that is his unwillingness to accept that perhaps he isn't as good a hunter as he once was.

Dean arrives from downstairs just then, hair wet from the shower and clad in his favourite soft grey house coat. He greets Mackenzie with a kiss on the cheek and a warm smile.

"Sorry to drop in on you guys like this," she says sheepishly.

"No, hey." Dean shakes his head reassuringly. "We're always more than happy to see you, Kenz."

She nods with a grateful smile. "It's just that Sam's been kind of AWOL and barely answering my texts. I'm just worried about him, I guess."

Castiel's heart goes out to her. It can be difficult being married to a man you love so deeply you want to ease his every trouble and fear, if only he would tell you what they are. He understands this struggle from experience, of course.

Castiel is just about to go fetch Sam from the guest bedroom when two small almost identical gasps emanate from the bottom of the stairs.

"Auntie Kenzie!" is all he hears before two sets of tiny socked feet run down the hallway and Mackenzie thankfully gets out of her seat to catch them as they barrel towards her legs. She lifts them easily, laughing as they cling to her excitedly.

Sam and Mackenzie spoil his children so much, which is why when she sets them up on the counter and reaches into her bag, they clap excitedly and Castiel cringes, preparing for whatever treats she's brought them this time.

Sure enough, he catches a peek of the contents of the small Tupperware she pulls out and mentally throws out any ideas he had for breakfast.

"Cupcakes!" Mary and Robbie cry and Dean face-palms.

He can only laughs and shuffle his way over to his husband standing beside their children.

"Cupcakes. For breakfast," Castiel whispers, laying his hands on Dean's broad shoulders. "How will they ever love us again?"

Dean grins sleepily and dips him into a quick kiss.

"They’ll find a way," Dean mumbles against his lips. Castiel runs his hands through the wet short strands of Dean's hair.

"You weren't in bed when I woke up this morning," he complains, thinking back to the morning devoid of Dean's warmth and the sound of the shower running.

"Neither were you when I got out of the shower." Dean pouts petulantly and leans in for another kiss which Castiel indulges willingly. Castiel makes a mental note to ensure that many family cuddles happen this weekend, as everyone seems to be craving them a little.

The bliss of the morning is interrupted when Sam exits the guest bedroom and from the look on his face and the phone in his hands, finds the current situation incompatible with whatever news he has.

"Mackenzie?" he says, awkwardly surprised as he walks up to her and presses a genuine kiss to her cheek. "This is ... a nice surprise."

"I was just missing you, honey." Her long fingers brush through Sam's dark hair lovingly. "Thought I would come and see you, bring my favourite niece and nephew a little treat while I'm at it."

She pokes Robbie on the nose and he smiles around the messy chocolate cupcake shoved in his mouth.

"They sure look like they love it," Sam huffs a laugh and Mary and Robbie nod enthusiastically. "Bet they'd love if Aunt Kenzie helped them pick out some clothes for the morning, yeah?"

"Yeah!" Mary says, in between licks on the cupcake wrapper. Castiel is going to throw an extra clementine in their lunch bags today, just to combat all the chocolate from this morning. And no dessert, that's for sure.

"Alright, my loves." Mackenzie takes the empty wrappers away and helps them down off the counter. She takes one of their hands in each of hers and leads them back down the hall. Castiel looks fondly on until Sam snaps his fingers in front of his face and grabs him and Dean by the arm, pulling them further into the kitchen.

"Dude, what?" Dean frowns, shrugging Sam's hand off.

"I just got off the phone with Wendy," he hisses, keeping his voice steady but the underlying sense of worry is undeniable. "There's been another disappearance."

"Where? Who?"

Sam's eyes flick to his and back to Dean's worriedly.

"You aren't going to like it."

"Sam, I don't like any of this," Dean retorts and Sam takes a deep breath before speaking.

"Cherry Street."

Castiel's pulse jumps.

"Cherry Street as in … three blocks away?" Dean asks with a deep frown. Sam nods. "As in where we pass by every day to take our kids to school, and where go to the annual laneway party every summer?"

Sam shrugs, like he wishes he could give Dean a different answer. "I guess."

"Wait." The familiarity of the name gives him pause for another reason as well. "What's the exact number?"

"67, I'm pretty sure Wendy said. That's what they heard on the police scanners at least."

His heart sinks with his worst fears confirmed.

"Dean, that's Cheryl and Dave's house."

"Not PTA Cheryl?" Dean says, horrified at the suggestion.

"67 Cherry Street, yes. Remember the one book club meeting we went to? That's where it was."

"Sammy." Dean turns his gaze back on his brother and Castiel feels his defeated tone deep to his core. “Cheryl and Dave aren’t our best friends by any means but ... fuck, they're our neighbours, practically, and Mary's friends with their son. You guys cannot keep pretending that all of this is a coincidence."

All of Dean's worries from yesterday afternoon seem so much more real in the light of this new information.

"Dean, I don't know what's going on. But if you guys think you might know these people, why don't you and Cas go over there as yourselves and try and find some stuff out,” Sam says.

“Well we sure as hell can’t show up and pretend to be feds, now can we?” Dean bites back. “Come on, Cas, let’s go check on our neighbours.”

They dress in record time, but what does hold them up is passing back past their children’s bedrooms and realizing that someone needs to take them to school and daycare. This is easily the most exhausting hunt he’s ever been on, for this reason exactly.

“You boys running off to work?” Mackenzie asks, standing outside Mary’s room as his daughter fits blue socks over her small feet.

“No, we—” Dean starts and then pauses. _Why did he say no_? Cas thinks. “It’s like a thing, and then we have to go …”

“Grocery shopping.” Cas says, mostly just to say anything.

“Yes, we had a dinner party—”

“—and we have book club on Sunday and—”

“—we need like a _lot_ of food, you know?” Dean finishes. It’s the worst excuse ever, but Mackenzie seems to buy it.

“You guys are so good at this cute domestic thing,” she says with a smile. Dean lets out a long sighing laugh.

“Ehh, we try. C’mon, sweetheart.” He gestures for Mary to follow him. Castiel supposes they’ll take the kids to school first and then double back to go poke around Cheryl’s house.

“No, daddy, ‘m not ready yet,” Mary says, yanking on her hair on both sides, indicating she wants Dean to put it in pigtails.

“Darlin’, we’ve gotta go,” he says, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers. She keeps standing there pouting at him until he finally surrenders, pacing back and kneeling next to her so he can quickly pull her hair into two elastics.

“Well, I could take them,” Mackenzie says, shrugging, “if you guys really have to head out. I could even just stay at home with Robbie. It’s not like he has to go to daycare every day right?”

Dean looks to him and shrugs.

“Thank you,” Castiel says, making the decision for them. “We can pick her up, though.”

Mackenzie nods and they’re about to walk away when Mary calls to them again.

“Papa, daddy?” Castiel doubles back a few steps and finds her holding her small green jacket and staring up at them. “Please don’t be late.”

Castiel’s heart melts a little.

“We’ll be early, okay baby?” Dean says, stepping into her room and sealing his promise with a kiss to her head. Castiel waves to her, and Robbie too at the next door, and then finally they’re out the door.

* * *

Cheryl and Dave’s house is already a crime scene when they get there, but early enough that Dean sees the snake hanging for the first time. It’s a bloody stringing thing, nailed right to the front of the door. Police tape cordons off the front lawn of a house that is no stranger to Dean.

They did go to that one book club meeting here, but Dean also remembers a block party or two where Dave offered up his barbeque and flipped burgers with Dean for a few hours. These are people he thinks of as his neighbours, and his fellow parents at Mary’s elementary school. If this case was personal yesterday, it’s even more so today.

“I don’t believe this,” Cas says.

“I know, sweetheart,” Dean whispers and rubs a soothing hand over his back. There’s a number of people milling around, same as they are, and for a few minutes Dean just feels like one of them. Confused, worried, looking for answers. A civilian. In many ways, it’s everything he’s always wanted, and something he feels like he’s come so close to having in recent years.

“Oh, Dean, Cas!” Dean hears a shrill voice from behind him and spins around with Cas to find Helen, another PTA regular and a good friend of Cheryl. “Did you hear?”

Her blonde curls bounce dramatically as she runs towards them, tip-toeing over dewy grass in her high heeled boots and running, very shockingly, straight towards his chest, impacting with a thump.

“Isn’t it so awful, Dean,” she cries into his chest, wrapping her bony arms around him and squeezing so tight he can barely reach his own arms up to pat her on the back comfortingly.

“Yeah, gosh, I’m … so sorry, Helen,” he says, sounding as sincere as he is.

Cas stares on with a squinty frown that tells Dean he’s trying to pretend he’s not annoyed. Dean can’t help but find Cas’ little bit of jealousy adorable, even in such circumstances. Besides, it’s not like Cas doesn’t know that Dean’s still got it bad for him, even after all these years.

“How did you find out?” Helen sniffles, pulling away from his chest and glancing between him and Cas, wiping away tears from her cheeks.

“Just walking by,” Cas says, shaking his head in dismay.

“Cher’s sister called me just an hour ago,” Helen explains without prompt. “This is all just so … unexpected.” Another heaving sob leaves her and Dean’s heart breaks a little.

“It really is,” Cas continues, patting her shoulder. “Cheryl and Dave are so lovely, I don’t know who could’ve done such a thing.”

“It makes no sense,” she says, shaking her head. Then she perks up just a little bit. “Do you… do you think they’d let us go in? We’re their friends.”

“Let’s ask, okay,” Dean says, seizing the opportunity, and looks around for an available police officer. He spots a bristly moustached man jotting some notes down a few feet away and waves him over. Dean thinks he might recognize him from one of those stranger-danger classes he helped out with at school one time, but he can’t be sure.

“Officer, is there any way we could get in the house? Helen here is a good friend of the family and just wants to make sure everything’s alright.”

Dean feels kinda bad using Helen this way, but if it gets him in the house he won’t lose too much sleep over it.

As expected, the cop lifts the tape and waves them in. Dean figured there wouldn’t be too much evidence to pick up. However the monsters are getting into these folks’ homes, they’ve been pretty clean about it.

Dean’s getting tired of walking into warm, loving homes and feeling them devoid of happiness. The framed photographs of families along the walls just sad reminders of what used to be here. He’d never really considered the emotional toll that each case took on his mental health. Now, though, after years of giving all that up, it’s come back to hit him harder than ever.

There are another two people Dean recognizes inside the house, and he’s not surprised they even beat Helen here.

Barbara and Craig, another couple from the neighbourhood, stand close huddled together in the empty living room. Helen breaks into another bout of tears when she sees them and Barbara runs to her and then hug each other tight. Craig is a large, burly man with an unfortunately large forehead, which his short cropped hair does nothing to hide. He clenches his big jaw and nods once at him and Cas.

Rumour mill on the street is that Barb and Helen propositioned Dave for a threesome, purposely excluding Craig for allegedly not being attractive enough to partake. Of course, because some people in this town are infinitely shitty, fingers were pointed at him and Cas for bringing a “hedonistic and immoral” way of life to the neighbourhood.

Whatever, Dean doesn’t give a shit. He’s not the one who gave Helen’s ex-husband a blowjob behind the kissing booth at the school’s craft fair last year. That was, well, that was Cheryl actually and now he feels bad judging a relatively innocent lady who’s just been kidnapped.

They end up staying for far longer than they anticipated, but it works out in their favor. They offer to make up some lemonade and dig up some cookies, which feels weird to do in the house of a missing person, but Barb assures him that Cheryl would’ve wanted people to always have snacks in her house, even if she’s not there to give them out. Meanwhile, though, Cheryl and Dave’s friends dish gossip all around the dining table about what possibly could have happened.

“You don’t think they did something to each other do you?”

“God knows they were having problems …”

“They were seeing a marriage counselor though. Helen, the one you recommended, right?”

“Maybe the counselor did something.”

“No, Remi is a long-time friend of mine, and besides, he would have no reason to.”

“Gosh, think of their son though…”

“Dave’s sister picked him up this morning, right?”

“Yes, didn’t want him to be around the crime scene. He’s still so young.”

“Old enough that they’re ready to adopt again, though.”

A plate clatters onto the table and Dean looks up to find Cas frowning down at lemon squares.

“Cheryl and Dave only had one child?” Cas asks to the table. Helen nods.

“Cheryl miscarried again last year, so they decided to finally give up conceiving,” she explains further.

“But adoption wasn’t ruled out yet?” Cas asks again.

“Of course not,” Barb says, shaking her head. “That’s how they got their son.”

Cas meets Dean’s eyes over a pot of tea and lemon squares and a thought clicks into place in both their heads.

“Will you excuse us for a moment?”

He follows Cas to the front hallways of the house, far enough out of earshot of the other house guests. Dean’s heart pounds in his chest as Cas leans close to whisper.

“Cheryl and Dave only had one child, which doesn’t fit with the pattern. But what if there’s a different pattern that we’ve been missing?”

“You think maybe the other families had adopted kids, too?” Dean asks, his teeth worrying his lip.

“Or maybe just blended families? Perhaps there is an element of a coming-together of family here, the way this group of monsters seems to be joining together for no discernable reason. Perhaps they’ve been rejected by their birth-families?” Cas says, practically spit-balling.

“Then why would they be attacking people who’ve done the same?” Dean questions. “Wouldn’t they be targeting families who stuck together just because they’re blood-related?

“Maybe they’re transforming them into one of their own. Using people who have the same values as they do.”

“Only vamps can turn people though, why are the wraiths and shifters in on it? I don’t know, Cas, it just doesn’t make sense.”

“Perhaps not, but monsters rarely do. You know that as well as I.”

Dean shakes his head, glancing back to the table of suburban couples, worrying their heads off about their friends without a single clue as to what’s really going on.

“Alright, Cas, what do you think we should do then?” he asks, turning back to Cas’ determined expression.

“We have another lead now, a different clue. I say we explore it. First, confirm if any of the other missing couples were blended families, and if so figure out what vampires, wraiths and shifters would want with them because of that.”

Dean nods, agreeing that it’s a decent plan, and almost better than anything they’ve had up to this point. He opens his mouth to respond in the affirmative when the front door to his left opens up to reveal two police officers, one with the bristly moustache and another higher ranking officer judging by the pins on his jacket.

“Folks, we’re gonna need y’all to come down to the station to answer a few questions about the missing couple,” the cop says and Dean’s heart sinks a little. Charlie wiped all their records best she could but there’s always that chance that something might slip through, and the last thing they need is a police investigation on their heels.

“Will that take very long?” Helen says, dashing up from her seat and peeking past Cas to look at the officers.

“If you cooperate, it shouldn’t take more than a couple hours, ma’am,” says the bristly moustached cop. “Just follow us back to the station in your cars, please.”

Dean pins Cas with a long look when the cops close the door and it’s clear he’s thinking the same thing. They’re going to have to toe a very fine line here.

* * *

They end up driving Helen to the station, which is only about fifteen minutes away, because she didn’t drive over to Cheryl’s place. Additionally, they’d like to get this done and over with as soon as possible, even if that means putting up with almost preposterous amounts of gossip from the backseat. Cas keeps his lips tightly thinned the whole ride there.

Helen has also clearly never been to a police station before as she clings to Cas’ arm timidly in the relatively empty foyer. Barb and Craig are already seated at one of the tables being interviewed by one of the few officers working the station and thankfully Helen gets waved over next by one of the cops that brought them in. Cas gives her a reassuring smile as she walks away and then turns a far more unimpressed look on him.

“Dean, what are we doing here?” he says, his eyes darting around.

“Uh, helping out the local police with an investigation, apparently.”

“Dean, we have been impersonating federal agents for the past three days in the next county over, do you think this is going to end well for us?” Cas asks, his eyebrows raised so high his forehead crinkles into deep lines.

“Cas, if this doesn’t end with us in handcuffs, I’ll consider it a happy ending.”

They’re made to sit in the waiting area until another officer frees up for them to be interviewed. An intern offers them a plate of stale cookies every once and a while and Dean drinks enough tiny cups of water from the water cooler that he has to ask for a bathroom break.

All the while, Cas twitches with worry beside him. His fidgeting gets so violent that he flips over Dean’s seventh cup of water onto the floor and after that Dean decides it’s better to just hold his hand, public decency be damned.

Whatever they look like to the officers at the station, they sure as hell don’t look innocent. Maybe, Dean hopes, just maybe, they look like two frightened civilians, worried about their neighbours, and unaccustomed to being interrogated by the police.

The moustached policeman—Officer Delaney, Dean learns—finishes Helen’s interview and waves them over next. Dean drags over an extra chair for himself and takes a seat next to Cas, who’s still a little jittery. Officer Delaney pulls out a witness report form.

“Names, please,” he says gruffly without looking up from the paper he’s already marking.

“Uh, Dean Winchester,” he says, clearing his throat.

“Castiel Winchester,” Cas says, taking Dean’s hand into his and squeezing it, breathing out slowly enough that the officer can’t see him.

“And you’re brothers?”

Dean looks from their clasped hands to the top of the cop’s balding head until he raises it high enough to catch the displeased look on both their faces.

“No,” Cas deadpans.

“Okay … And your relationship to the victim?” Officer Delaney says quickly.

“We’re her neighbours,” Dean sighs, wishing the interrogation was over already. This is really the only time he’s ever been in a police station without handcuffs on or a fake badge on him, but it’s somehow still the most stressful.

“Do you know if the Henderson’s were having marital problems?”

 _That’s a stupid question,_ Dean thinks. _It wouldn’t explain all why they all of a sudden went missing, or what it has to do with the other disappearances_.

“Not that I am aware,” Cas says, “but even if they were, how would that explain the other missing couples?”

“Excuse me?”

The officer finally looks up properly this time. Cas looks awkwardly to Dean at his right for help. Dean busies himself with thinking up an excuse to keep from glaring at his husband.

“Well …” Dean clears his throat. “We saw, you know … on the news … that there have been, um, others?”

Officer Delaney’s eyes flick suspiciously between them.

“Maybe there have,” he says. “Do you know anything about them?”

“God, no,” he jumps in before Cas has the chance. “Just what we saw on the news. He’s a crime junkie, you know …” Dean laughs, quirking a thumb towards Cas beside him. “CSI, NCIS, X-Files … he can’t get enough of ‘em.”

“Yes,” Cas says stiffly, nodding. “It is just a fascination of mine. My apologies.”

He makes the excuse sound wooden as hell but somehow the cop lets the transgression slide. After that they try to get through the questions as fast as possible without much interruption.

Finally Dean sees him get to the bottom of the page, sign off, and file it away in a folder. He bids them thanks with a threat to call them back in if they need clarification on some information.

Cas stops for a drink at the water fountain as they’re leaving. Dean lets him take his time because then at least it looks like they’re not trying to book it out of there. When Cas leans up though, something must catch his eye over Dean’s shoulder because he ducks down a little, his eyes go wide with concern.

“Wha—” Dean turns to look but Cas grabs him by the shoulders to stop him.

“Don’t look, but the Sheriff from the next county over that Sam and I met on Tuesday just walked in.”

Dean gulps, his heart jumping to his throat, suddenly very aware of how close to being exposed they are. Cas looks like he’s two seconds from making a run for it, or strategically planning an exact route of escape that likely involves the death and injury of every person in the station.

Sometimes Cas just can’t see the obvious answer right in front of him.

“Okay, just follow my lead,” Dean whispers and then leans close and seals his lips over Cas’. He makes a muffled note of surprise against Dean’s lips but gets with the picture soon enough, loosening up into the kiss, tongue darting out to wet both their lips. The water fountain is strategically placed in between two vending machines and Dean pushes Cas back into the small alcove, kissing him deeper and further away from prying eyes.  

A spark of possessiveness flares up deep within him as Dean presses their chests together and Cas’ back arches slightly over the water fountain as Dean sucks deep breathless kisses from him. It’s a far too public place for such a display but Dean gets so lost in it he forgets what the purpose of the kiss even was.

That is, until Cas pushes Dean’s head away a little and gasps into his ear, “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

“Distraction,” Dean replies instantly.

Cas tries to look confused through his dazed, happy expression. “Distraction. Right. Effective.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Cas glances around the edge of the vending machine. “He’s gone into the Sheriff’s office, now’s our chance.”

“Right, yeah,” Dean says, sucking oxygen back into his lungs as his head clears. Cas grabs his hand, pulling him around and out the double doors of the police station into the bright autumn afternoon.

They run quickly back to the car, looking around for any more familiar faces. Dean finally feels safe as he unlocks the car and climbs in. He slams the door behind him as he settles into the driver’s seat, Cas following seconds later.

“So,” he says to break the silence, “that well extremely well.”

“Conducting interviews regarding supernatural murders in our own town was probably not an exceptional plan, considering we were the ones who ended up being interviewed,” Cas agrees.

Dean hums. “What now?”

Cas narrows his eyes, squinting out the front windshield. Dean’s man enough to admit to himself that it’s stupidly cute, one of his favourite expressions of Cas'.

“We did tell Mackenzie we were going to pick up groceries.”

“Yes, Cas, that’s what we call lying.”

Cas looks at him disparagingly. Dean shuts up. “I _meant_ , in order for that lie to work, we do need to return with evidence. Otherwise it’ll look suspicious.”

“We are out of milk, and pasta,” Dean lists with a shrug, turning the ignition.

And so, they actually do end up going grocery shopping, in the middle of a Thursday when they’d both normally be working, because there are something like half a dozen guests at their house right now who need to be fed. God, they’ve only been hunting for three days, and their lives are already this out of order. Never again.

Cas always takes way too long to inspect every single piece of fruit before they buy it. Dean’s had more than enough time to get used to it, though, so instead of rolling his eyes and tapping his feet like he used to, now he just makes idle conversation.

“Man, I want our house back. I wish everyone would just leave. Well, maybe not Charlie. And Mackenzie and Sam are welcome any time, I guess. Jody, too. Hmm. Actually, if just Ezra left, I think I’d be a lot happier about this whole ordeal.”

“Agreed,” Cas says, peering down at literally two identical bunches of grapes before picking one and moving on.

After what feels like twenty minutes, Cas has finally picked out a whole four avocados, and places them in the cart. Dean follows him through the rest of the produce section, grabbing a bag of red apples when Cas is picking out his favourite bunch of bananas, just to speed things along. Checking his watch, he realizes that between their failed interview attempt, driving around, and prolonged visit to the grocery store, it’s probably gonna be easier to just pick up the kids straight from school before going home. Besides, then they don’t risk being late again.

This case hits closer and closer to home every day, with the victims being families with two adopted children...he knows it’s just paranoia, but he’ll feel way less antsy once Mary and Robbie are strapped into their car seats and bickering about who gets to tell their stories from school first.

He’s so distracted for the rest of the trip up and down the aisles, mechanically picking up the necessities on his mental list, that he doesn’t realize Cas threw a box of way-too-sugary cereal into the cart until it’s already been paid for and he’s packing it into their reusable bags Cas insists they need.

“Dean,” says Cas.

“Cas, you and Mary are only allowed to eat this shit on Saturdays, and you bought another box just a couple weeks ago, there’s no way you’re already—”

“No, _Dean_ ,” Cas emphasizes, his urgent tone getting his attention. Cas grabs his arm, jerking him around until he’s facing the security camera feed at the entrance of the store.

In it, he sees a man just on his way out of the store. He glances at the camera, revealing glowing eyes.

Dean exchanges a look with Cas, before they both take off away from the register at a run. Well, jog. Castiel asks someone behind them to watch their cart for a minute, but Dean’s already in pursuit of the shifter, heading out into the fray of the parking lot. If there’s a lead to be found, this guy’s gonna have it.

“Hey!” he shouts, trying to startle the shifter before he can start running. Dean’s lagging behind, but just as he thinks he’s lost him, Cas appears from between two parked cars, grabbing the shifter and shoving him against the nearest minivan with what’s gotta be some remnant of angelic strength.

It only takes Dean a second to catch up, cornering the guy on the other side.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Cas demands, voice low and gravelly and not sexy, Dean, don’t think about that when there’s a monster right here.

The shifter grins. “Just shopping, same as you.”

“For food or people?” Dean growls.

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

Dean’s stomach turns. He knows it’s all just taunting, has dealt with this sort of thing from every monster and their brother, but it’s not just nameless people he’s talking about. They live in this town, know a lot of the people. They wouldn’t be just nameless victims.

Cas gets up in the guy’s face. “I think it would be best for everyone if you went very far away and never came back. It can be of your own volition, or we can ‘help you out’.”

“That’s a cute notion,” the shifter sneers, “but I know you ain’t gonna follow through.”

“That so.”

“Well, unless you’re hiding some sharp knives in that grocery bag, neither of you are armed.”

Which is, sadly, true. Dean’s fallen out of the habit of keeping a weapon on him at all times, and even though he’s been better during this hunt, he left his knife under the seat in his car, which is too many rows over to think about right now.

“Doesn’t mean we won’t get creative,” Dean threatens anyway.

“And secondly,” the shifter says, “I don’t think the residents of this quaint little town would be super impressed by seeing two of their upstanding citizens murdering an innocent man in a grocery store parking lot.”

Dean fumbles a bit at that, but Cas carries on, unfazed. “Nor would they be by seeing an ‘innocent man’ assaulting two people in a parking lot, so I guess we’re at a standstill.”

The shifter grins again, that horrible sneer that makes Dean wanna put his fist through the guy’s face. “Relax, Castiel. I ain’t here to cause any trouble. In fact, I’ve already got the goods I came for.”

Stomach dropping at the mention of Cas' name, Dean shakes the shifter a bit, pushing him harder up against the van. “How do you know his name,” he demands.

“Don’t worry, Dean, I got yours, too.” The shifter tilts his head. “Thanks for confirming it, though. We’ve been looking for heaven and hell’s favourite couple for some time now. Glad to know the hunt stops here.”

“Oh, the hunt is just beginning, pal,” Dean says.

Cas narrows his eyes. “Are you working with the wraiths and the vampires? Who exactly is ‘we’?”

“People like me,” he replies. “Well, I use the term ‘people’ loosely, but suffice to say we’ve all got a score to settle with you two.” He looks around them, then. “But I can see we’re gonna have to settle it another time.”

“You’re not going anywhere until we get an explanation,” Dean says.

“Maybe I’m not, but your reputation is going further and further downhill the longer you’ve got me here,” the shifter says.

Dean and Cas both shift their eyes away from him.  It isn’t a crowd, exactly—not yet—but a few people have slowed to get a closer look, concerned and frightened looks on their faces. Dean recognizes another client from the garage, and maybe a co-worker of Cas'. Damn.

Cas sighs, looking at him, though he doesn’t let the shifter budge an inch. “He’s right, Dean,” he whispers. “We can’t be seen aggressively interrogating a regular-looking man for no apparent reason outside our local grocery store.”

A growl escapes Dean’s lips. God, hunting and normal lives do not mesh at all.

“Let him go, Cas,” he says. Then he addresses the shifter one last time, far more seriously. “This ain’t over.”

“I sure hope not,” he taunts. “I’ve only just gotten a glimpse of two Winchesters. I can’t _wait_ to meet more.”  

Before Dean can piece that apart too much, the shifter pushes Cas away from him. On his way back into the main lot, just to pour salt on the wound, he pats Dean on the arm and reaches up to ruffle his hair condescendingly. Dean considers the pros and cons of punching the guy in the face, regardless of the audience.  “Lovely talking to you!” the shifter calls back as he strolls off, quickly dodging between some other cars and disappearing from sight.

“I wanna go after him,” Dean grumbles to Cas quietly, not taking his eyes off the spot where the shifter seems to have vanished. “Hold me back.”

Cas does grab his arm, just below the shoulder. “We’ll get him soon. For now, just …” He looks around, a little lost. “I’ll go get the cart. You dispel these bystanders.” Apparently still in lightning-quick defensive mode, Cas doesn’t wait for a response before he takes off back towards the store, hardly concealing how much he’s trying to act natural. And failing. He’s walking so pretend-casual it’s suspicious on its own. Dean rolls his eyes, turning around.

“Sorry for the confusion,” Dean calls to the small crowd that’s gathered in the surrounding lot.  He’s pretty sure he spots some parents whose daughter plays soccer with Mary in the summer.  “Thought we saw him shoplifting. Our mistake.”

This seems to appease everyone, and they continue on their way, as Dean breathes a huge sigh of relief and exhaustion. Aggressive interrogations with monsters are no walk in the park.

He leans against the car, twirling his keys and going over what the shifter said in his head, until Cas reappears. He’s practically fucking whistling now in his really counterproductive attempt to not look suspicious. But Dean just goes with it, helps him load all the bags into the trunk, stows the cart away back at the front of the store.

All groceries stowed, Dean and Cas collapse into their respective seats in the front of the car.

“I hate this!” Dean shouts once the doors are closed, bashing his fist into the steering wheel. He cringes when he realizes what he’s done, smooths his hand over the wheel in apology to the car.

“Agreed,” Cas says, eyes fixed forward.

Dean shakes his head. “What did he say? ‘A score to settle?’ What, so all this, all these monsters that the three musketeers have been tracking, they’re all just looking for us?”

“It would appear so. Likely Sam as well.”

“We haven’t hunted for years though,” Dean argues.

“True, but these could be long-kept grudges from back when we did hunt, regularly.  Tough as it is to imagine, monsters have families and friends too. Perhaps they’re trying to avenge monsters we did kill, back before Mary and Robbie, and have only just found us now.”

“But then why the sloppy work? I mean, a group of amateur hunters found their trail no sweat. And not to brag but, we are fucking legends, dude. I mean, vampires, wraiths?  That’s low-level stuff. Just because they upped their numbers, do they really think that would stop us from taking them out just as easily as we did whatever friends of theirs we shafted before?”

Cas closes his eyes in concentration, or possibly in frustration. “None of this makes any sense, I agree.”

Silence fills the space between them again, frustration and confusing brewing in the air.

“Let’s go pick up Mary,” Cas suggests.

Dean hums, jamming his keys in the ignition and turning on the car. “We can call everyone back to the house, see if any of them can make heads or tails of this.”

The drive to the school feels longer than it should. Dean and Cas don’t talk, and Dean’s pretty sure they hit literally every single red light, _and_ that they’re all longer than usual. It’s paranoia, he knows, but each time he has to hit the brake, it only serves to increase his unease. He huffs in frustration as they pull up to what’s gotta be the fifth or sixth red light in a row.

In the rear-view mirror, he glances at the two empty car seats and sighs.  He needs to get back into dad-mode, not hunter-mode. But Mary helps with that, has always helped ground him and keep him focused on what’s important.  And right now, it’s getting to her school so she can give him a hug that’ll help settle his nerves before they drive home together to see Robbie.

When they pull into the parking lot, Dean can see around the corner that the yard is still full of parents and kids alike. Which, you know. At least they’re not late this time.

“Be right back,” Dean says to Cas as he climbs out of the car.

He walks over to the yard, scanning the play structure as he goes for Mary’s bright green jacket and windblown brown hair. But she must have taken her jacket off, because he can’t see her running around with her friends. He frowns when a second look doesn’t indicate Mary’s anywhere on the playground. She must still be inside, helping wash the last of the painting supplies or something, he decides. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Excuse me, Ms. Jacobi?” he asks, trying to catch Mary’s teacher’s attention. After waving goodbye to another kid, she turns to him with a bright smile. “Is Mary still inside?”

Her smile fades slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m here to pick her up, and I don’t see her on the playground,” he explains, trying to tamp down on his impatience. “Unless I’m completely blind.”

“Did she run back for something?” Ms. Jacobi asks, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Now Dean’s the one who doesn’t understand. “You tell me. I’m just here to pick up my daughter, I don’t know what she’s gotten up to at school today.”

“Mr. Winchester,” she says slowly, and he does not like this tone _at all_. “Mary already left with you five minutes ago.”

She keeps talking, but it fades into background noise. All he can hear is his heartbeat suddenly pounding wildly in his chest.

Cold terror grips at his chest. Dean feels frozen to the spot, unable to move a single muscle even if he wanted to. He just keeps staring at Ms. Jacobi. Maybe if he does it long enough her words will start to make sense. Maybe she’ll break into a smile and Mary will jump out from behind her legs and shout “Boo!” all grinning and giggling and wearing her green jacket like she’s supposed to on a cold day.

But none of that happens.

Instead she’s just. Not here. She already left, with him. Five minutes ago.

“Mr. Winchester?” Ms. Jacobi calls. She shakes his arm a little but it violently jars him out of his thoughts. “Are you okay?”

Dean’s going to throw up.

“I’m fine,” he somehow gets out, the words sounding distant. “Sorry for the confusion.”

Still working on automatic, he finds himself walking back to the car, his hand feeling empty without a smaller one clutching it. He very calmly gets back behind the wheel, still staring straight ahead of him.

Cas is on him immediately, a hand on his shoulder, leaning towards him in his own seat. “Dean. Where’s Mary?”

Finally he remembers how to control his own movements, and turns to face Cas. His husband is looking at him directly, wide, blue eyes uncomprehending.

“I don’t know.”

Cas' expression doesn’t change. “What do you mean.”

“I don’t know, Cas,” Dean replies, feeling the terror rising in his throat, threatening to choke him. “She’s not here.”

“She can’t leave without one of us,” Cas says, eyes still fixed on Dean’s.

“Apparently I picked her up five minutes ago. That’s what Ms. Jacobi says,” Dean tells him.

Cas shakes his head fervently, almost like he’s in denial. Dean knows the feeling. “That’s impossible.”

“Not when there are shifters wandering around.”

Dean sees it dawn on Cas' face, the look of terror and comprehension that must be mirrored in his own. He doesn’t look at Cas for long, though, already turning the car on and moving the gearshift, pulling out of the parking lot faster than he ought to.

“We need to get home. _Now_."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very minor emetophobia warning for this chapter.

Dean’s hands are both on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly as he takes all the back roads to get them home while avoiding as many traffic lights as possible. Castiel therefore can’t hold one with his, so he settles for gripping his own hands in his lap, twisting and kneading his fingers anxiously.

He can’t breathe.

He might be going into shock. It’s possible. His brain doesn’t seem to be functioning normally right now, only able to fixate on one fact.

Mary’s missing.

It feels unreal. Castiel has witnessed many horrors and unfortunate circumstances in his long lifetime, but this feels impossible, like under no circumstances could this ever happen.  Mary belongs with him and Dean, sitting in the backseat, singing loudly and off-key to Yellow Submarine, helping Dean cook dinner, doing a puzzle with Robbie on the living room floor. The idea that this is not the case, suddenly, is incomprehensible. He can’t even process it. All he can do is repeat Dean’s words in his head, as if somehow they’ll begin to make sense. _She’s not here, she’s not here._

Human perception of time is strange, especially when the brain is under stress. It feels like hours, but also no time at all, before they finally pull up into their driveway. Dean barely parks the car, leaving the keys in and the engine running as he throws open the door and sprints up the steps to their door, Castiel on his heels.

“Robbie?” Dean yells, stumbling to a halt as he enters their house through the worryingly unlocked front door. “Mackenzie? Anyone?”

No one answers.

Castiel’s panic escalates with every step he takes further into their eerily quiet home, devoid of the sounds of Mackenzie’s bright voice, or Robbie’s loud toddler-speak. That panic multiplies exponentially when he walks into the living room, sees Mackenzie sprawled on the floor, unconscious. Like she’d been forcefully knocked out.

Dean collects himself slightly faster, crouching down by her head, presumably to check for spinal injuries. “Call Sam, now,” he demands as he tries to shake Mackenzie awake. Castiel nods numbly, somehow manages to pull his phone out of his pocket and dial Sam’s number.

He still can’t breathe. How will he be able to speak?

“Hey, Cas, what’s up?” Sam greets across the line. He sounds like everything’s fine.

Everything _should_ be fine, Castiel thinks. Why is it not?

“Hello?” says Sam. “Cas?”

“I’m here,” he says. Dean has started shaking Mackenzie awake, calling her name.

“And?”

“You need to come back to the house.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Just come. Right now,” Castiel stammers. He hangs up before he loses his voice again.

In their first stroke of good luck in a while, Mackenzie seems to be waking up, sitting up with Dean’s assistance. She holds her head, squeezes her eyes shut in pain.

“Mackenzie,” Dean says, voice tense with worry, “where’s Robbie? Please tell me he’s upstairs.”

Mackenzie shakes her head once and finally opens her eyes. As soon as she does, she roughly shoves Dean in the chest, scrambles backwards. “Get away from me!”

Dean falls back, bracing his hands behind him. Castiel instinctively rushes over to him, supports him with his hands while also seeking comfort himself.

“Mackenzie, I need you to tell me where Robbie is,” Dean repeats.

She glares at him. “How should I know? You’re the one who took off with him.”

Castiel’s heart sinks, realization setting in, again without real comprehension. _Robbie’s not here, either._

“That wasn’t me,” Dean says. His voice is strangled, like he’s trying not to cry. Castiel feels like he should be crying, too, but he just doesn’t want to accept what the logical part of his brain has already figured out, while the emotional part still hasn’t caught up. “This is me, right now.”

Mackenzie shakes her head. “I know who you are, Dean. And I know it was you who fucking grabbed Robbie out of my arms and beat me unconscious.”

“Kenz.” He’s pleading now. “C’mon you _know_ me. I’m Sammy’s brother, I was the best man at your wedding, you let me spend hours with your students on career day, why would I hurt you, why would hurt my son?”

Mackenzie shakes her head, but logic focuses her wild eyes just slightly. She turns to Castiel. “Do you know anything about this?”

“It wasn’t Dean,” Castiel explains, trying to keep his voice steady. “I promise, this is really Dean, and myself, here right now. The Dean you saw before was an imposter.”

“How is that possible?” Mackenzie asks, her eyes still guarded.

“It was a shifter.”

“Cas—” Dean begins, reaching up to stop him.

Castiel dodges his hand. “No, I refuse to keep up this lie, not after this. Besides, the more she knows, the more she can help, Dean.”

“Help with what?” Mackenzie says. “What’s a shifter?”

“It’s a monster,” Castiel says indelicately. “I’ll let Sam explain the rest when he arrives.”

“That’s not important right now,” Dean rushes to say, trembling under Castiel’s hands. “The big thing is that it’s got our kids, and I don’t—” Dean’s voice breaks. Castiel feels his heart do the same in sympathy. “We need to get them back.”

“I don’t know where you—it—took off to.” She looks heartbroken. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel still can’t breathe. He forces himself to inhale, exhale, go through the motions, but it doesn’t make his chest feel any less hollow, doesn’t make him feel any less like he’s choking, on anguish, or fear. He and Dean help Mackenzie back to her feet, get her some painkillers for her head, while they wait for Sam, but it’s all mechanical, unfeeling. All Cas can think about is Mary and Robbie, scared and without him and Dean, tied up, or worse. He’s never known fear quite like this before.

They end up all sitting at the kitchen table, not speaking.

“What do we do, Cas?” Dean whispers.

“Find them,” Castiel replies with certainty. He itches to go outside right now, begin searching on foot if he has to, manually turn over every stone until his children are safe again.

Dean looks at him imploringly. “How?”

“I—” This time, it’s Castiel’s voice that breaks. “I don’t know.”

* * *

Sam walks in the door seven minutes later and Mackenzie starts crying again. She leaps out of her chair and Dean hears them embrace behind him, Kenz stifling her cries in Sam’s chest, but he can’t turn to look. He can’t do anything, he can’t even move. He can only sit in hollow silence, clutching Cas’ hand tightly in his and run the same thought through his head over and over again

His kids are gone. He doesn’t know where they are. And so far, no one is looking for them.

“Sam I— I was attacked by… something, I don’t — Cas said it was… I don’t know,” Mackenzie’s voice shakes with upset confusion and if Dean was a better man, he’d give her time to realize it on her own. But he’s not.

“Mackenzie, sit down,” he says, almost clinically, “Sam, you too.”

The two of them approach the dining table cautiously, pulling up chairs on the long side across from him and Cas.

“Sam,” Mackenzie sniffs and wipes at her eyes, “Mary and Robbie are missing.”

“They—they’re fucking _what_?” Dean’s resolve nearly shatters at the broken sound of Sam’s voice but he squeezes Cas’ hand with what has to be a now painful grip and presses on.

“In one minute I need you to call Jody, Charlie, and the rest of the hunters but first.” He stares right into Sam’s teary hazel eyes but points his index finger at Kenz. “I need you to tell her what a shifter is.”

Sam’s mouth gapes open and he shakes his head, “Dean, I c—”

“I do not have the fucking time to argue with you. If you wanna scream at me, you wanna beat me up, fine, but you do that when the son of a bitch who took Mary and Robbie is dead, and my fucking kids are back in their goddamn beds, but not now.”

Dean knows his relationship with his brother has always been a one step forward, two steps back kind of progress, and that that right there was one of those step back moments, but he can’t find it in him to care.

Sam closes his mouth and swallows, addressing his wife instead of trying to reason with Dean. “A shifter is supernatural creature that can take the form of any human it comes in contact with,” he says, plainly and to the point. “That’s what you were attacked by.”

Mackenzie’s eyes go wide and she shakes her head in disbelief.

“And a wraith,” Dean says, urging him to continue. Sam doesn’t fight him this time, but looks shamefully down at the table.

“A wraith is also a kind of shape shifting creature, but its true face can be revealed in reflective surfaces, and they have a long venomous spike that protrudes from their wrist.”

“And a vampire,” Dean finishes.

Sam raises his head and pins him with a sad, almost empty stare.

“Self-explanatory.”

Mackenzie, for her part, hasn’t thrown up or passed out yet, but she’s still looking between the three of them searchingly for one of them to jump up and yell “surprise!” and laugh it off as a cruel practical joke. There’ve been a few times in Dean’s own life where he thought someone might do that. Namely, going to hell, and finding out his kids had been fucking kidnapped by monsters.

Sadly, his life is not one big long practical joke, and now it’s his turn to explain to Kenz exactly what his life is.

“Those are just a few of the monsters that exist in our world, and that Sam and I have hunted for most of our lives.”

“Dean,” Mackenzie says, “not to be rude, but you sound insane.”

He nods. “I know.”

“Kenz, it’s true.” Sam clears his throat and speaks up a little more confidently. “Dean and I used to be … we’re called hunters, and it was our job to track down and kill things like what hurt you and took Mary and Robbie.”

“And you?” Mackenzie looks to his left at Cas. “Were you a hunter too?”

Cas clears his throat and Dean sees Sam wince pre-emptively. “I used to be an angel.”

Mackenzie is absolutely dumbfounded, but there’s a twinge of something else there too, something he hasn’t seen from her yet this afternoon. Maybe it’s understanding, maybe it’s faith, but for the first time so far, Mackenzie believes. And belief, as he’s learned, is a powerful thing.

She raises a shaking hand at Cas. “I believe you,” she whispers, almost horrified, and Dean knows that if he could feel anything right now, he would feel relieved. “You know why I believe you?”

To Dean’s surprise, he sees Cas nod slowly out of the corner of his eye.

“The first day we met.”

It’s then that realization dawns on Dean.

“You brought me flowers and said any woman who could have stolen your brother in law’s heart must be amazing, and I said—”

“—what an angel.”

Three heads turn to look at him and Mackenzie nods.

“And the three of you look at me like I’d grown a second head and I knew, _I knew_ there was something more to that look.” She nods decisively to herself. “Now I know. Okay, okay.” She wipes away at any remaining tears and her face steels into an expression of forced confidence. “I don’t know if I’m gonna wake up and all of this is going to be a dream, but okay. Fine. I believe you.”

It’s the most honest words Dean has heard out of her all night, save maybe for the follow up bombshell.

“And since we’re all being so brutally honest with each other, Sam, I’m pregnant.”

It’s a testament to their strength that the three of them don’t burst into tears right then and there. Sam, of course, looks like he’s close though.

“Congratulations,” Cas deadpans.

“Kenz, you have the worst timing,” Dean whispers hollowly. He’s going to be an uncle, and he can’t even force a smile on his face.

“Really?” is all Sam says, looking so full of hope for one split second. She nods and lays one hand over her lower belly, as he’s seen pregnant women often do.

“Four and a half weeks. I was going to tell you when you got back from visiting your brother, and then I thought I might as well come up and tell all of you at once.” She turns away from Sam’s shocked and adoring face to glance between him and Cas, her pale blue eyes shining with sadness. “But we can talk later. Right now, I think we have two baby Winchesters to save.”

Dean could almost fucking kiss her for how well she’s taking this. Almost. Instead, he does something far more productive; delegate tasks.

“Sam, call Jody and the hunters right now. Cas, tell them what happened at the grocery store, then call Charlie.” He lets go of the white-knuckle grip he has on Cas’ hand and stands up.

“Where are you going?” Cas asks worriedly.

“To do something I’ve needed to do for the past half an hour,” he replies. Cas’ confused frown deepens, so he clarifies. “Throw up.”

* * *

Castiel manages to make his way through a short explanation of the grocery store fiasco, but finds himself unable to dial Charlie’s number or speak any further after reaching to part in the story when Dean returned to the car without their daughter in hand.

Because she was kidnapped by monsters, his brain helpfully offers him.

Mackenzie asks if he wants to sit down and have a tea, but he shakes his head and figures it’s time to go speak to Dean, now that the retching noises coming from their first floor bathroom have stopped.

He finds Dean sitting on the tile floor, his shoulders hunched over and head near the toilet. His gaunt and hopeless expression is something Castiel knows his own face must look similar.

“‘m sorry,” Dean hiccups and covers his mouth with one hand. Castiel’s heart sinks in his chest and he braces one hand on the wall as he slides down to meet him on the floor.

“ _Dean_.” He shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“I gotta get my shit together, we have to find them, Cas, we _have_ to,” Dean says, nothing short of pleading.

“There are people coming to help; we’re not going to stop until we find them.” Castiel leans against the open door of the bathroom, and reaches for Dean’s hand on the cold floor of the small room. Thankfully, he takes it. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Dean nods but says nothing further.

Castiel hears Sam and Mackenzie moving around further back in the house, making phone calls and whatnot. Like Dean, he feels both the pressing need to find his children, at any cost, and to start that search immediately, but equally feels the gripping immobilizing fear of what’s happened so far today.

“I just … can’t believe this. It’s like my worst nightmare,” he admits, taking a few shuddering breaths, “that some idiot monsters would hurt our kids just because they’re easier to get to than us. This is why we quit hunting, and it _still_ —”

“I know,” Castiel consoles, trying to keep his own voice steady, “I know. And I realize it’s a very small comfort, but hopefully if the monsters want us, then Mary and Robbie are still unharmed. We just have to find them.”

Dean nods grimly. “Okay.”

Somehow, he gets them both to their feet, makes sure Dean drinks a glass of water before they head back downstairs to rejoin Sam and Mackenzie.

“Charlie and Jody are on their way,” Mackenzie tells them. “They said they didn’t have much luck today either, but they’ll be here any minute to help us make a plan.”

Dean still looks unsteady on his legs, so Castiel leads him to one of the kitchen chairs to sit in. He feels too restless to sit, himself.

“Speaking of plans,” Sam says, “what have we got to go on?”

“Not much,” Dean says despondently, his voice small as it echoes around the space. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t even remember what they were wearing this morning. You know how … people always say you gotta remember what your kids wear every day just in case … in case …” _In case you have to file a missing person’s report,_ Castiel finishes in his head. “But I don’t … I don’t remember, I can’t think.”

He mentally retraces his steps to that morning, scouring through all the terror of this afternoon to thing of the early hours of the day, when his children were safe in his home, eating bowls of Shreddies with a banana, and wearing—

“Her blue and white striped long-sleeve shirt with khaki pants, and Robbie…his Batman shirt and jeans,” Castiel lists off slowly.

Dean nods decisively. “Great. I’ll call the police and you can tell them that,” he says, already fishing his phone out of his pocket.

“Dean,” Sam interjects, grabbing his arm before Dean can dial 9-1-1, “you can’t call the police.”

“Why the hell not?” Dean demands. Castiel would also like to know.

“They’re not gonna know what to look for, not like we do,” Sam says.

“More people looking is still good, Sam,” Castiel argues.

“Okay, but what if a police officer, or someone else, _does_ stumble upon these monsters?” He lets them answer that question for themselves. “Right. And if the police get involved, Dean, they’re gonna ask questions we can’t answer. I mean, everyone at school saw _you_ pick up Mary today. And you’ve both been missing work, it’s gonna—”

“Fine, okay?” Dean snaps. “No police. But I want someone to start coming up with some new bright ideas, then.”

“We don’t have to get the police involved to go look for them,” Castiel says. “We have lots of hunters here, we can look for them on our own.”

“Where?” Sam asks.

“ _Anywhere_ ,” Castiel replies, voice nearly breaking. He swallows around the panic rising in his chest. “Anywhere we’ve been in the last week, anywhere we know monsters have been. It may not be much—”

“But it’s better than sitting on our asses trying to think of something better to do,” Dean finishes.

Just then, the front door opens. Castiel knows they left it unlocked, but he bristles and looks around for a weapon all the same. His muscles relax when Jody and Charlie emerge from down the hallway.

“Boys, I am so sorry,” Jody says, immediately pulling Castiel into a hug. It comforts him slightly, though he still hasn’t stopped shaking.

Over Jody’s shoulder, he sees Charlie hug Dean tightly as well.

“We’re gonna find them, okay? That’s a promise,” Charlie says when she steps back, addressing both of them. Normally Castiel would expect her to reference an inspirational quote by a favourite character of hers, but she doesn’t. Apparently this situation is too grave to even merit that.

“Please tell me we’ve got something to go on,” Jody says once they’re all gathered in the kitchen again.

“We don’t, but that won’t slow us down,” Castiel explains. “We’re going to look for them. If anyone has seen or heard of a monster’s location, that’s where we check. There must be something to point us in the right direction.”

Dean nods, looking a little more collected now that more people are here. “Everyone load up on weapons, too. We’ve got vampires, wraiths and shifters, _at least_. If they don’t immediately give you the time of day, you make sure they never see that light again, got it?”

“Okay,” Charlie says. “Where do we start?”

It’s decided that Dean, Castiel and Jody will search around Concordia, while Sam, Mackenzie and Charlie will take the last town there’d be disappearances in. Sam protests Mackenzie coming along, but she just points out, “Would you rather I stay here alone, undefended? I can hold a knife and fire a gun if it comes to it, Sam. Worry about me later; right now we’ve got our niece and nephew to find.”

That was the end of that discussion.

Jody was also insistent on accompanying Dean and Castiel. “Just to make sure neither of you do anything stupid,” she explains.

“Jody, my kids are missing,” Dean replies. “I make no promises.”

As they split up, Sam promises to also call the hunters back at the bunker, ask them to search in their area as well.

It’s not a full search party, Castiel thinks, but it’s _something_. And right now, he needs something to cling to, some sort of goal or hope, so he doesn’t completely break down.

Castiel, Dean and Jody scour every inch of Concordia and the surrounding areas they can find. They start outside the town, back at the hiking trail he and Dean explored just yesterday. There is still nothing near where they’d killed the wraith, or anywhere else around the trail.

Once they’ve thoroughly combed every inch of that trail, they return to the car, nearly at a run. Castiel blanches when he sees they’ve expended nearly an hour already, and there have been no calls from anyone else on the lookout.

The sun hasn’t even set but Castiel is already worried they’re rapidly running out of time. The three of them check around both Mary and Robbie’s schools, the grocery store, the crime scene from this morning.

There’s just … nothing. No clues, no evidence, no sign anything here has been disturbed. In the car, they drive up and down nearly every street in town, but Concordia is simply not that big.

After almost three hours, Castiel’s fierce determination to stop at nothing, to leave no stone unturned, has faded into hopelessness. Checking in with Sam and Izzy reveals neither of them have found anything, either, and Castiel is on the brink of just sitting down on the curb and crying because he doesn’t know what to do and it’s terrifying.

Jody, blessedly, senses the shift and suggests they canvas the area around the farmhouse simply. Dean and Castiel agree, driving back to their home and wandering the yard and surrounding farms, armed with flashlights and silver bullets. Castiel goes so far as to walk up and down the wheat field his children sometimes like to play hide-and-seek in. Predictably, he finds nothing but grass.

Eventually, Jody gets a call from Sam, but it’s just to say that Charlie is driving back to the farmhouse whereas he and Mackenzie are going to the bunker. Apparently they’ve decided that a better course of action would be to do more research, try to narrow their suspects down, investigate new possibilities. Castiel can’t find any reason to stop them, even goes so far as to assent when Jody proposes they return to the bunker to do some more research on their own. They have enough books on supernatural lore there.

“This was useless,” Dean tells him as they walk back up the road to their house. Dean’s hand is holding his so tightly he fears his fingers may snap, but his own grip isn’t much looser.

“We’ll find them,” is all Castiel can reply, even as he doubts it more and more with each step.


	10. Chapter 10

“Dean,” Jody says, “you need sleep.”

“No, I need to find my kids,” he snaps. _Why does nobody understand that?_

“Just take three hours. The rest of us will keep working away, but neither of you are thinking straight right now. Taking a break is the best thing you can do for Mary and Robbie.”

Unfortunately, Jody is right. The logical part of his brain knows that she’s making sense, but that part of his brain is being overpowered by every instinctual paternal urge keep his kids safe and take down anyone who threatens that. As much as Jody is his friend and sometime mother figure, right now, she’s one of those threats, along with everyone else in this room—except maybe Cas.

“Okay, fine,” comes his husband’s voice from behind him. _Or maybe not Cas._ “Three hours and then we’re back. Any developments, you wake us up. Am I understood?” Cas states, more than asks, in as harsh a tone as Dean can ever remember him using.

“No—” Dean begins to retort, disagreeing with Cas' appeasement of this, but Cas turns his dark glare from Jody onto Dean and gives him a look, silently communicating with him.

_Shut up, I’m trying to help._

“Alright, yeah.” Dean nods, playing along. “Like Cas said, you hear anything, you give us a shout, alright?”

“Will do,” Jody says as Cas mouths ‘distraction’ at him.

“Hey, Jody,” Dean says, hopping into action by moving around Cas to take her by the shoulders. Just as he planned, everyone else in the room politely averts their eyes, “Look, we’re really sorry. You know, we’re both stressed out and it really does mean so much to us that you’re here helping—”

“Dean, of course,” Jody whispers, her eyes wide with understanding, “you boys are family to me. Just don’t forget that I – I know what you’re going through remember, and I just want your story to end a little happier.” Dean’s heart leaps to his throat and he tries not to think about what she means, nodding along with the act for a moment longer. “It will, Dean. They’ll be okay.”

Dean coughs once in an attempt to clear his throat, but his next words still come out a little tight. “Of course they will. We’ve got you on the case now.” Jody laughs at that. Cas should’ve had enough time by now. “Alright, we’ll go get some sleep.”

“See you in three hours, kiddo,” Jody says, shooing him away.

Cas seems to have already left the living room where they’ve set up research camp, so Dean follows the familiar path back towards the main staircase but as his foot lands on the first step a hiss comes from the kitchen.

“Dean.”

It’s Cas, his head poking around doorframe and clutching what looks to be six thick books.

Dean peeks his own head back down the hall to where Jody and the rest of the hunters are before tiptoeing his way over to Cas and ducking into the darkened kitchen.

“What’s the plan?” he whispers to his husband’s stern profile.

“I am not wasting time on sleep while our children are in danger,” Cas says. Dean nods in agreement. “I grabbed some books that looked promising, so we can keep reading for as long as we want and then join the others in three hours.”

“Unless we find something before then.”

“Unless we find something.”

They’re in agreement then, though neither of them jumps to action immediately. They simply stare at each other, flayed open and sore from the day’s events. Dean’s face must alter minutely because Cas squints up at him and quirks his head to one side.

“What is it?” he asks.

“I thought …” He doesn’t know how to say it kindly so he doesn’t. “I thought you weren’t gonna be with me back there. That you weren’t on my side.”

“Dean—” Cas' shoulders drop.

“I need you on my side, Cas. I need you.”

Cas nods slowly at that in understanding. Finally, after six years of marriage, Cas may have just figured out what Dean means when he says he needs him. Something behind Dean’s shoulder catches Cas' eye that makes him inhale sharply. Dean, expecting danger, moves unconsciously closer to his husband as he spins around, ready to fight whatever it is. He looks around confused upon finding nothing, but Cas' hand comes up to grab at the sleeve of his shirt.

“No Dean, it’s—” Cas' voice cracks brokenly as he pushes past him to grip onto the door frame of the kitchen. Then Dean spots the pencil lines running down the bottom of it and remembers, it’s not just a door frame. It’s where they measure their kids’ heights.

Cas' strong fingers grip the wooden door frame, looking almost weak against the physical proof of their kids’ life. The same thought sticks in the forefront of both their minds; what if they never mark another measurement on it again?

It will have to be torn off, Dean thinks. Thrown out and burned. This house along with it, probably. It’s so fundamentally tied to their family, it would be an insult to everything he knows, having one without the other. Practically every memory Dean has of their perfect, apple-pie life post-hunting has taken place within the walls of this house. Their home.

Dean cannot be left with mere memories of his children.

“I can’t be here, Cas,” Dean whispers brokenly to his husband’s slumped shoulders. “I can’t be in this house without them. Not for one more damn minute.”

Cas turns his sorrow-filled eyes back on him and nods. “I know.” He takes a deep breath and steels his features. “I have an idea though.”

Cas beckons him with his head and they move further into their kitchen, mindful of their footsteps over creaky floorboards. Dean’s a little taken back when Cas opens the door to their closet-sized pantry.

“Cas, why are we hiding in the pantry?” says Dean.

“We’re not. Hold these.” Cas dumps the pile of books into Dean’s waiting arms. Then, he flips a latch under one of the pantry shelves and Dean hears a tiny click and the whole shelf swings forward an inch.

“Oh,” Dean breathes out. How could he have forgotten …?

Cas pushes the secret door open all the way and together they stare down the steep stairs leading towards the basement.

Ah … the basement.

Undoubtedly the spookiest non-haunted place Dean has ever had the displeasure of stepping in.

When they first bought the place, the basement just had a regular door going down to it; the kitchen pantry did not exist yet. At first, they’d tried storing a few boxes and hunting supplies down there, even some non-perishable foods for a while.

But there was just something about it … something about the unfinished walls and concrete floor. The uncovered lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling, and the feeling of general uneasiness that you were constantly being watched. Maybe it wasn’t haunted but it was nothing short of downright unsettling. Before their first year anniversary of owning the place, Dean had decided to block it off, putting it behind the secret door and modelling the pantry around it. Out of sight, out of mind.

As a result, it’s the only room of the house their children have never stepped foot in. That thought alone leads Dean down the rickety staircase, trailing behind Cas, reaching out blindly for the supporting wall in the absolute darkness.

When they stumble their way to the bottom of the stairs, Cas finds a light switch and a yellow haze brightens the large space marginally when he flicks it on, throwing whatever the light doesn’t touch into dark grey shadows.

There isn’t much down here anymore, just moldy carpet in one corner, and a few old dilapidated cardboard boxes that Dean isn’t even sure are theirs. Of course, no creepy basement would be complete without an unnecessarily large and ancient armoire, which Dean is absolutely sure hasn’t been moved in a century at least. They tried to remove it once when they first moved in but quickly discovered that it was, for no discernable reason, bolted to the ground. They haven’t gone near it since.

“I forgot you did this.” Dean spins around at the sound of Cas' voice, echoing ominously off the walls. His hand, eerily pale and yellowed in this lighting, brushes over a spray-painted sigil on the wall. There are dozens of them all around the room, some even painted in blood as their spells require.

In the beginning, when Dean was convinced the place was actually haunted, he’d warded the place completely, hoping it would fend off some of the creepy chills. Eventually he accepted that the old room was really just drafty, and the sigils only added to the disturbing factor of the place.

“Cas, babe, don’t touch the walls,” Dean whispers, his own voice sounding hollow in the echo-y chamber of the room. “I don’t know what kinda crap’s been growing down here.” Dean squishes an earwig under his boot before it can scuttle away.

They stay away from the carpet, its fibres too dusty and moldy to outweigh any comfort it might provide as they settle themselves on the hard concrete floor.

They lean against each other, back to back. Dean hands Cas half the pile of books back, and they get to work.

Dean may not like the research part of hunting, but he is good at it when he needs to be, knows all the tips and tricks to get at the information you needed in as little time as possible. Dean thinks maybe that’s why he doesn’t read for fun so much; he’s always looking for the point.

It’s with purpose that he flips to the index of the first book, starting with the keyword children, and earmarks all the pages that contain that topic. After reading all those pages, he backtracks to the chapters that were more relevant, reading them the whole way through so as not to miss anything that might be important. He gets through the first book in about forty five minutes, if the clock with the shattered glass face that hangs on the wall beside the armoire is anything to go by. The book holds no valuable information for him, which wouldn’t bother him on any regular hunt, but this one has him feeling anxious.

It’s been hours since the kids were taken and they have no leads as to where they might be. Worry and panic have settled into motivation though, and he digs into the next book quickly, in search of more clues that will bring his children back to him. Back to them, he remembers and Cas adjusts himself against Dean’s back.

“You, uh … you found anything?” Dean asks, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

“Nothing,” Cas says, his voice heavy with dread. “You?”

“No.” Dean clears his throat and says, as much to himself as he does to Cas, “But we just gotta keep trying, okay? We’ll find them.”

“Okay,” comes Cas' sad response. A hollow silence returns to the empty room, filled only by the sound of calloused fingers turning the thin pages of ancient tomes, until Cas speaks again. “I didn’t want this to happen.”

Dean’s heart nearly breaks at the lost desperate tone his voice takes. “Cas, wh—”

“You have to know that, Dean, you—”

They both turn simultaneously, reaching for each other’s comfort in the least welcoming place of their home. Cas clutches at his shoulders as he continues. “I just want them to be safe, that’s all I need, I thought that if they knew what was out there that would help but I don’t know anymore, I don’t know what’s right anymore—” Dean’s hands find Cas' face, reaching up to brush tears off his cheeks. He looks gaunt and sunken. Dean knows Cas feels things—from joy to sorrow—very deeply, especially as a human, but he can probably count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Cas actually break down like this. He wants to strangle whatever it is that’s torn his family apart.

“Cas, hey. Shhh ...” His husband falls forward into his arms, shoulders shuddering with the effort of holding back sobs. “Of course I know that, babe. All you’ve ever done is protect our kids.”

“No, that’s you,” Cas sobs again, clinging to the front of his shirt. “You always know what to say when they’re upset about school, and you know what to do when they have nightmares. You’re the one who keeps us together.”

“Well, maybe. But who’d answer all those questions they ask about complex shit, and who’d explain it to them in a way they always understand, hmm? That ain’t me, that’s you, Cas. You’re the one who always knows when to lay down the law and when to be lenient. I can’t do that, I’m too weak on them. I need you to do the things that I can’t. I need you to be strong in ways that I don’t know how.” Cas lets out a long-suffering sigh on Dean’s shoulder. “You’re an awesome dad, Cas. Our kids need you to keep being one. They need you—us—to keep looking for ‘em.” Cas lifts his head up, hands still like a vice around Dean’s shoulders. His blue eyes are glossy with tears, as are Dean’s own. “Can you do that for them? For me?”

Cas nods, blinking hard. They pull away from each other then, sitting shoulder to shoulder, books laid out on their laps. Dean runs one hand through Cas' soft hair, just long enough to be curling at the ends, pressing a kiss to his temple where grey streaks weave through dark brown.

With that, they return to their books, Dean digging into the next chapter on something about a specific kind of ghoul that kidnaps children from their beds who have been naughty. In the tale, their parents are glad the ghoul has rid them of such a misery. It’s not what he’s looking for.

Dean rubs at his sore eyes and fights back a yawn, not wanting to give away how tired he really is, how much part of him—though small—did want to give into Jody’s order to get some sleep. He flips back to the index of the book when Cas' shoulder jolts again his suddenly.

“Dean, do you remember when we got Mary?”

Dean’s eyes fall shut, the image of a small, month-old baby wrapped in a soft knitted purple blanket coming to mind. His baby girl.

“Cas, I can’t think about this right n—”

“No, Dean.” Cas' voice hardens, all roughness from his sudden bout of crying gone. “I mean, do you remember _how_ we got Mary.” Blue eyes lock onto his. Dean nods, swallowing once. “I think I know what it is.”

Cas' hand moves from the page to reveal a full page spread of the child-stealing demon herself. A demon who looks horrifically familiar to one they saw almost six years ago.

“Lamia.”

The stale air is sucked from the room as Dean’s heart pounds with the implications.

“We assumed she was just another irrelevant monster, but this suggests she could be at least a minor goddess. What if we didn’t kill her five years ago? What if she just faked her death?” Cas says hurriedly. “If she is a deity then the silver and salt … even Ruby’s knife wouldn’t have done anything.”

“And she’s just been… waiting all this time to get back at us? For what? For nearly killing her? That’s ridiculous,” Dean says, as if the motivations of monsters have ever truly made sense to him.

“No,” Cas says dejectedly, “for taking what should have been hers. For taking Mary.”

Dean is sure his heart stops for a moment. “This isn’t some third-rate monster grudge. This was never about us.”

“This is about our children.”

They charge back up the stairs, Cas with the book in hand, fingers holding the important pages open. Dean hears a couple Tupperware boxes fall off the pantry shelf as he throws the secret door open and runs into the living room where the small ground of hunters have congregated, Cas quick on his heels.

Jody springs to her feet immediately. Dean feels a lecture coming.

“Why aren’t you—?”

“We know what it is,” Cas cuts her off, breathing heavily. He holds up the book, open to the page with Lamia on it.

Jody lets them explain, about Mary and Lamia—the person, not the species—and how they finally know why all this is happening. Until finally, blessedly, she understands.

“Okay, somebody get on the phone and call Sam back at the bunker,” Jody takes a commanding tone. Dean lets himself collapse against Cas' side a bit, his husband’s arm coming up around him, exhausted from the day's events and from the relief that finally, they’re getting somewhere. “Tell his crew to look up anything about this Lamia chick, where she might hide, and what’s gonna kill her.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to [Stina](%E2%80%9D) for the Latin incantation in this chapter—before she offered to help, it was truly just keysmashing and putting it through google translate. So thanks for making it legit as well as amazing, Stina.

Several minutes of scrambling around and one long conference phone call with Sam, Mackenzie and the three hunters later, Castiel finds himself sitting beside Dean on their comfiest couch in the living room.  Dean’s side is warm where they’re pressed along one another, calves to shoulders, a book on lesser Greek deities and demigods on their laps between them.

Their capacity for research at the farmhouse is limited by their selection of books, or lack thereof. Jody, as well as Dean and himself, are all searching for further information in the volumes they do have, tucked away in various bookcases around the house, unwilling to sit idle now that they have a promising lead. Charlie is also searching the internet for information, faster and more efficiently than any of the rest of them would be able to. Realistically, however, Castiel knows they are waiting for another phone call from the bunker, hopefully one announcing they’ve learned where to find Lamia. And how to kill her.

Until then, Castiel comforts himself with the knowledge that they’re getting closer, and by cuddling up closer to his husband.

“You okay?” Dean asks, not lifting his eyes from the page.  

“Not particularly,” Castiel replies. He’s too exhausted and heartbroken to put any kind of tone behind it.

Dean doesn’t react beyond shuffling against him a bit against him. To someone else, he might appear to be absorbed in his reading, but Castiel can sense the tension in his shoulders, the distracted twitch of his thumb.

“I hate waiting,” Castiel tells him. For all that human lives are short, there is an exceptional amount of it to be done, Castiel has found. He’s been human long enough to mostly adapt, but this particular brand of waiting is torture.

“Me too.” Dean turns the page. It’s another section on Medusa. Largely unhelpful. “I wanna drive up to the bunker right now and help out there. Nine heads are better than five, right?”

Castiel sighs. “I know. But if they locate Lamia and she’s closer to us, like she was last time, we’re in a better position to reach her from here.”

Dean grunts in acknowledgement. He still hasn’t looked up at Castiel.

“Dean … are _you_ okay?”

His husband laughs once, mirthlessly, without raising his eyes. “What do you think?”

A frown crawls onto Castiel’s face, his worry heightening. “We’re doing everything we can, Dean,” he says with conviction, even though he doesn’t truly agree with what he’s saying. He understands Dean’s unrest, his yearning to be in action rather than idle. But Dean needs reassurance right now, not to be riled up further. “We’ll find them, I promise.”

He hates the part of himself that reminds him that is a promise he can’t really make.

“I know, Cas,” Dean says, running a hand over his face tiredly. “I just. Want them back. Right now.”

Castiel shifts onto his knees, surrounding Dean with his arms.

“God, this is a nightmare,” Dean says into his shoulder. “I wish I could wake up.”

“We’ll find them,” Castiel repeats, uselessly. He doesn’t have anything else to offer Dean but the warmth of his arms and the faith in his heart that their story does not, cannot end here.  They’ve faced unbeatable odds, challenged destiny before, and won. This time won’t be an exception. They won’t allow it to be. “You’ll keep them safe, you always do. We always do.”

Dean nods into his shoulder. Silence falls between them, nothing filling the air around them but the sounds of their breathing, the creaking of the couch, the small noises of Charlie and Jody moving about in another room.

Eventually Castiel sits back down beside Dean, but this time keeps an arm tightly wrapped around his back, even though the tenseness there does not dissipate. They continue to look over the book, which becomes more and more irrelevant every page they turn. In terms of research, they are largely unproductive, but at least they are finally resting, as per Jody’s instructions.

Castiel has lived for what some would consider to be equal to an eternity, but it feels like an eternity again that they sit there waiting, hoping, scouring what books they have, before a phone finally rings.

Dean lurches to his feet and snatches his cell from the coffee table.

“Sam?”

“Put it on speaker phone!” Charlie’s voice calls from down the hall. Dean does just that.

“—books on Greek monsters, rather than gods, and I think we’ve got a way to take her out.”

Everyone is on their feet now, grabbing jackets and phones as Sam speaks. Dean picks through his keyring, eventually settling on the key to the shed out back where they keep the hunting equipment.

“You said you tried silver before,” Jody recalls.

“As well as salt rounds and Ruby’s knife,” Castiel adds, “but obviously none of that was right. We need a new strategy, new weaknesses to target.”

“Lamia’s associated with snakes, right?” says Sam. “Well, obviously no one’s killed her before, but it looks like snakes might be her weakness, too, if it’s tied to her immortality.”

“Kind of like dead man’s blood with vampires?” Charlie asks.

Dean shakes his head. “That doesn’t kill ‘em, though. Usually with things as powerful as her, you need a stake covered in blood.”

“With snakes, though, it could be blood. Or it could be shed skin, according to what I’ve got.”

Dean shrugs. “Both it is.”

Castiel cuts in, heart pounding with anticipation, thrilled to _finally_ be getting somewhere, but wary still. “This still doesn’t tell us where she is.”

“I might be able to help with that,” comes Wendy’s voice, muffled from her distance to the phone.

“Then why haven’t you found her already?” Dean snaps.

“ _Because_ I need something to track for it to work,” she replies. “It can be something of your kids’, or something of Lamia’s—”

“We’ve got tons of their things here, like clothes, or …?”

Wendy sighs. “Not … just anything will work. It needs to be a part of something that they’d have the other part of with them. I can make the two halves seek each other.”

Castiel stills, Dean along with him. They exchange a glance, likely thinking the same thing. Wendy’s idea is promising, is probably their best chance at locating Lamia and their kids. But Castiel can’t think of anything that would fit that criteria. Mary has her charm bracelet, Robbie his necklace with the anti-possession sigil, but they don’t have any pieces of those here.

But it occurs to Castiel suddenly, as Dean is desperately bouncing ideas off Wendy: they might have something else.

“Dean,” he interrupts. “The dory.”

Dean blinks at him. “The what?” Sam and Dean speak in unison.

“The spear,” he clarifies, “that Lamia had last time we encountered her. It split in two when you shot at her with the iron rounds.”

Sam seems to get it. “Did you keep the other half? Is it here?”

“No,” Dean replies, “we never had time to bring it back to the bunker. I forgot about that thing.”

“But we do still have it,” says Castiel, looking at Dean meaningfully. “We threw it into the shed and never took it out again, figuring it would be safest there, in case we needed it.”

Dean nods slowly. "There's no way of knowing she's still got the other half."

"But there's no reason she wouldn't have kept it. It's our best chance."

“Will that work?” Sam asks over the phone. After a pause, he says, “Wendy says that’ll be perfect.”

The four of them are already out the door, Castiel locking it behind them as Dean runs around the back to the shed. He beckons Jody to follow him, presumably to help carry things, a he hands Castiel the phone.

“What kind of spell is this, anyway?” Castiel asks to fill the time, heart beating wildly out of his chest. He feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, unbidden. Their chances are good, but he doesn’t want to deal with the uncertainty of the next couple hours. He just wants Mary and Robbie in his arms, beautiful and smiling and alive, right now.

Wendy clears her throat over the phone. “The kind that’ll work.”

Izzy’s voice pipes up in the background, too dull for Castiel to make out the words. Her voice and Wendy’s fade off as they speak, or argue. Castiel narrows his eyes. That sounds … skeptical, but they don’t have any other options right now.

“Cas, we’ve probably got the snakeskin and blood around here, but according to this, we’re gonna need a stake from a black willow tree,” Sam instructs.  

Castiel nods. “There are some in the woods around the bunker. We can get one from there.”

Dean and Jody reappear just then, machetes, silver knives, and shotguns in hand.  Clutched in Dean’s right, however, is the broken shaft of an intricately-carved Greek dory spear.

“Sam, we’ve got the spear, and some stuff to take out the rest of these goons.” Dean opens the Impala’s trunk, throws all the groceries they’d completely forgotten about onto the driveway, dumps the weapons in their place, slams it shut again. He keeps one silver knife and one pistol on his person, however, just as Castiel has kept his angel blade tucked into his coat all evening. “If they’re all working together with Lamia we can expect a welcome party once we get there.”

“I got it, we’ll stock up here too. Drive safe, okay?” Sam says, obviously hearing the Impala’s doors opening.

“Not a chance,” Dean replies, taking the phone from Castiel and hanging up as he climbs into the driver’s seat.

Jody gets her foot in the door before he can slam it shut, though. “Nuh-uh. You are in no state to be driving.”

“I’m in a state to be driving _fast_ , which is what we need right now,” Dean protests, not moving.

Jody doesn’t budge. But instead of arguing with Dean anymore, she turns her glare to Castiel, fixing him with a pointed look.

Castiel swallows. On one hand, he does want to arrive fast … but on the other, he can see Jody’s point. Regardless of speed, Dean does not have the mental capacity to be driving right now.

“Dean …”

“I’m not arguing this, Cas. Get in the fucking car, or I’m leaving without you.”

“We’re all coming, Dean, but Jody can drive. And drive fast,” he adds, before Dean can protest.

“I’ll get you there in no time,” Jody says, “but you boys do need a break. I won’t stop you from barreling forth once we’re there, but you are not getting behind the wheel of this car.”

Dean grips the steering wheel tensely, before finally letting go. He clambers out of the car, all but throwing the keys at Jody.

Charlie stops him before he gets into shotgun. “Whoa, there. I’ll keep the Sheriff company. You two just take it easy back there, okay?”

Hurrying this along, Castiel takes Dean’s hand in his, pulls him into the backseat with him. They have to shuffle the car seats to one side and forego seatbelts, but somehow they end up more-or-less comfortably seated in the back, pressed close for comfort.

As Jody drives—far higher over the speed limit than Castiel would have thought her career would morally allow her to do—Dean drops his head onto Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel lets his head lean on Dean’s in turn. His eyes drift closed, both of his hands still clutching both of Dean’s.

They don’t say anything, and they don’t sleep. But it’s something.

* * *

The long car ride only serves to prove to Dean how tired he is, weary right down to his bones. His body wants to fall asleep, head resting on his husband’s shoulder, but his mind is still running circles, fear pumping through his veins. Every breath he takes feels shaky, his chest tight, but he just reminds himself to keep breathing anyway. He needs to keep his head on straight, keep focusing on the plan, or he’s gonna lose it.

For now, though, there’s nothing to do but wait. He thinks Cas might be sleeping, and while he doesn’t think he can, he lets the Impala keep him safe for a little while, lets the rumble of her engine lull him into a light doze.

Drowsy as he is, as soon as they pull up in front of the bunker, he’s out the door and on his feet. Cas is right on his heels, black pea coat hanging open and rippling around his waist.

The four of them take the stairs two at a time down into the bunker and into the war room. Dean practically sprints into the library where Mackenzie and Ezra are mixing up some weird herbs in a bowl, along with something squishy. Dean doesn’t wanna know.

Sam and Wendy are nowhere to be found, but Izzy is sitting in the corner, arms crossed. He wants to ask what she’s clearly refusing to do out of protestation but he starts with the more pressing question. Sam’s his brother, and Wendy’s the one who’s gonna locate Lamia for them, so they’re first priority. “Where are Sam and Wendy?”

“Getting a couple more ingredients Wendy realized we need. Sam had to go dig through some rooms way in the back of your weird Ghostbusters bunker,” Mackenzie explains.

“Great. What’s up with you?” Dean asks then, directing the question to Izzy, sulking in the corner. He doesn’t really have time for any more drama right now, but he also needs everyone to have their head in the game, here.

“I’m not taking part in any of this witchcraft bullshit, is what’s up,” she retorts.

That makes Dean stop. Mackenzie and Ezra keep intently staring at their work. “Any witchcraft what-now?” he says.

“Wendy’s spell to find your Greek goddess? Not your regular kind of magic. Not even your amateur witchcraft magic. More like, has-been-doing-this-behind-my-back-for-years kind of witchcraft.”

Dean has totally missed something. “Wait, what? You’re saying Wendy’s a witch?”

“Looks like,” Ezra pitches in. Both Dean and Izzy shoot him a look. He sheepishly turns his head back to his work.

Wendy chooses that moment to walk back into the room, Sam behind her with a couple antique wooden boxes in his arms. The room does seem to go colder, Izzy and Wendy finding each other’s eyes from opposite sides of it, glaring daggers at each other.

“We’ve almost got everything,” Sam announces, dropping the boxes on the table and ignoring the silent conversation going on around him. He probably tried his hand at solving this earlier, with little luck, it seems.

“Your freaky little witch recipe almost ready to go in the oven?” Izzy asks Wendy, bitterly.

“Izzy,” Wendy says, her tone tired, like she’s run out of arguments.

“Yeah, will you stow your crap?” Dean agrees. “I’m sorry if eye of newt or whatever gives you the heebie-jeebies, but we’ve got bigger things to deal with.”

Izzy’s glare only intensifies. Dean cringes a little, faced with the full force of it. “I’m not _squicked_ by witches. I’m _repulsed_ by them. Witches killed my parents.”

Sam, Ezra and Mackenzie keep their eyes firmly on the table, while Dean, Cas, Jody and Charlie all stand there, momentarily shocked.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, the first one to find his voice.

“Whatever. I’m over that,” Izzy replies. Her tone makes Dean suspect she is most definitely not over that. “What’s bothering me is the fact that my best friend has been practising witchcraft behind my back and didn’t tell me.”

“Why do you think I didn’t tell you, Izzy?” Wendy shouts back, finally looking up from the bowl where she’s mixing more questionable liquids from those boxes they brought in.

“Can you both shut it?” Dean yells over them. The room goes quiet. “Look. Sure, witches are gross—”

“I heard that,” Wendy shouts.

“—but some spells are more effective than others, and right now, my kids have been kidnapped by some crazy Greek-goddess wannabe. Short of summoning Lucifer, there’s not much I’d say no to if it would help,” Dean finishes.

“Did Lucifer kill your parents?” Izzy spits.

Dean winces. “Indirectly, kind of, yeah. But like I said, I’m willing to forgive and forget just about anything if it gets my kids back to me.” He fixes Izzy with a look. “And you need to be on the same page. We need to take Lamia out, no matter what. Capisce?”

Izzy narrows her eyes at him further, but can’t keep it up for long. With an exhale, she seems to deflate, anger leaving her. “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”

“You don’t have to be happy about it,” Dean justifies. “You just have to do the job, okay?”

“This job sucks,” Izzy mumbles petulantly.

Dean sighs heavily, mind immediately going back to his Mary and Robbie, still out of his reach. “Don’t it just.”

Cas, thankfully, just dives right back to the centre of it. “When will this spell be ready?” he asks.

“Just a minute,” Wendy responds.

Dean’s got nothing to do but sit around and wait anxiously. His mind starts to spin all sorts of what if’s—what if the spell doesn’t work, what if Lamia doesn’t have the spear, what if it does work but they’re already too late—and doesn’t stop, even when Cas comes to stand next to him and hold his hand. Dean’s own worry and distress are reflected right back in Cas’ eyes, and he squeezes his fingers to reassure both of them.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Wendy finally announces. “Where’s that spear?”

Cas grabs it from off the table and hands it to her. As the rest of them gather around the table—Izzy with a permanent frown fixed on her face—Wendy pours the dark green goo over the shaft, and before too much can drip back into the bowl, closes her eyes and recites the spell in Latin. Dean’s too busy whispering “please work, please work” under his breath to bother translating.

_“Corpus in duobus sectus est;_

_Fragmentum relictum nos_

_Ad partem absentem ducat._

_Cum alion unum medietatem ligemus.”_

The second she says the last word, the goo seems to climb back up the spear, covering it entirely before hardening into an incredibly thin layer that looks like glass.

“That it?” Sam asks.

“Hopefully not,” Wendy says, and after a deep breath, raises the spear into the air, moving her arm around until she finds the direction she wants.

Dean sees why. When she holds it facing south-west, the glassy layer starts to … glow, almost, as if reflecting a light it’s suddenly getting from who knows where.

“It’ll get brighter the closer you get to its other half,” Wendy explains, smiling slightly. “Like hide-and-seek.”

Dean laughs bitterly. If only that was what they were using this for. This is like life-or-death hide-and-seek.

Sam clears his throat. “We should go. We wait any longer, we might be too la—”

He just barely cuts himself off at the warning look Jody gives him, but Dean catches the words anyway, his stomach dropping in fear.

Yeah. He hopes like hell it’s not too late.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-typical violence warning for this chapter.

This time, Dean gets to drive.

Navigating with a spear that glows brighter and heats up the closer they are to their destination is not an easy task, but Castiel is determined, clutching it tightly as he sits shotgun in the Impala. He directs Dean as best he can, feeling his chest constrict painfully each time he realises the spear is actually cooling down, forcing them to turn around.

They finally find a road going west, the same direction that the spear is bringing them, and drive down it at far-above highway speeds, the headlights of two other cars following behind them shining through the side view mirror.

The road goes from asphalt, to loose gravel, to dirt, until it’s only one lane wide and winding away from where they want to be headed. The spear shaft is still glowing brightly, and glows even more so when Castiel holds it in the direction of the forest that the road diverges around.

“Dean, stop.”

Dean puts on the brakes so abruptly that Castiel, as well as Charlie in the backseat, both complain about whiplash.

“What? Why?” Dean asks.

“I think we’re close, but we can’t take the road any further. Look,” he says, and gestures to how the glow of the dory differs when he holds it in the direction of the forest, and then away from it. Dean nods, puts the impala in park and the three of them hop out.

“What’s the holdup?” Sam calls from the car behind him, rolling down the window.

“We’re going on foot from here,” Dean replies. “Grab what you need.”

Sam and Jody hop out, but when Mackenzie opens her door too, Sam holds his hand out to stop her. Castiel doesn’t mean to listen in, but catches their conversation anyway as he’s equipping himself with weapons from the back of the impala.

“What are you doing?” she demands.

“Kenz, you should stay in the car.”

“Like hell, Sam.”

“Whatever sort of monsters we find out there, they’re not gonna be very forgiving of the fact that you’re not a hunter,” he says.

“Well, I’m not very forgiving of the fact that they knocked me out and took my niece and nephew, so that should be fine.”

She tries to step around Sam, but 6’4” is quite sufficient to form a barrier between her and the Impala’s trunk, stocked with weapons.

“I’m part of this family too, Sam,” Mackenzie says, almost pleading.

“I know,” he replies. “I get it. It’s not that I think you can’t handle this, it’s that I don’t want you to have to. I never told you about hunting because I didn’t want to ever be back here. And hopefully after tonight we never will have to be again, but for now, just …” He trails off, and sighs. Castiel’s heart pangs. “I can’t stand anyone else getting hurt tonight, okay?”

Castiel stops listening after that, focuses on making sure his gun is loaded.

“Come on, people. Hurry up!” Charlie says, already standing on the edge of the trees.

“Alright, listen up,” Dean shouts, getting everyone’s attention. “We’re looking at wraiths, shifters and vampires at least here. We’re not looking for answers, we’re looking for my kids, and we’ve got this spear GPS to help with that, so no messing around—you see someone who ain’t us, you take it out. Shouldn’t be anyone out here but monsters and us hunters, not if those monsters have been here a while,” he adds grimly. “But keep an eye on me and Cas, ‘cause it could look like one of us. Cutting the head off won’t stop a wraith, but it will slow ‘em down, and kill the other two, so when in doubt, your machete is your friend. Cas and I will take point since we’ve got the stakes that should kill Lamia, but if anyone else sees the bitch, you yell and we’ll come running.”

“And most importantly,” Castiel adds, “please try to find Mary and Robbie.”

Everyone nods. Sam turns back to give Mackenzie one last kiss before she rolls up the window and locks herself in before they venture into the forest.

Jody, Sam and Ezra have flashlights that they use to carve a path through the forest. Castiel supposes they must be quite a sight: just a search party from afar, but armed with guns and knives and wooden stakes.

Castiel reminds himself not to despair with every step they take further into the forest. Sure, they haven’t seen any signs of their children yet—or any indications of monster activity, for that matter—but Lamia will not have made this easy if she’s already gone through this much trouble to cover her tracks and hide from them.  They are getting closer. They have to be.

“Izzy, look out!” comes Charlie’s shout from a few too many paces back.

Castiel and Dean pivot quickly to see a vampire coming straight for Izzy. Charlie is too far back to help, and Izzy’s knife gets stuck in her belt. Castiel holds his breath.

Wendy quickly slices its head off without hesitation.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Izzy pants in response. “Thanks.”

“You forgive me now that I saved your life?” Wendy asks confidently, almost smiling.

Izzy rolls her eyes and says, affection leaking through, “We’ll see.”

A gunshot cuts off this moment. Castiel turns again to see a monster—shapeshifter, seemingly—crumple to the ground a few feet from Sam, having jumped out from behind a tree but not fast enough.

“Two down,” Dean mutters. “We’re in the right place, at least.”

Confidence renewed, they all hurry further into the forest.

* * *

Twenty minutes later finds Castiel locked in a struggle with a vampire.

In a final attempt, it lunges at him, fangs bared. In his now aging human body, Castiel may not have the same strength or pure angelic power he once did, but he still has reflexes and skill enough to handle this. He side-steps and pivots, grabbing the vampire and using his momentum to help his knife slice off its head.

Dean gets to his feet a few steps away, strides over towards him, eyes still hard with determination.

Castiel rolls his shoulders. “This reminds me of Purgatory,” he says, not sure if he intended to voice the thought.

Apparently it’s the right thing to do though, as Dean’s eyes soften slightly.  Instead of just continuing to follow the spear—as they’re both itching to—he remains still for a moment.  Dean licks his thumb in a quick movement, then reaches for Castiel’s face, tenderly wiping away what must be a splatter of blood.

“You’re not nearly fuzzy enough for Purgatory, darlin’,” he murmurs, his thumb dragging over Castiel’s cheek one more time than Castiel deems to be necessary, probably.

“Dean,” he intones, regrettably bringing them both back to reality, an unwelcome but vital reminder to remain focuses. They will have time to reverently trace their fingers over each other’s features and recall positive memories together later, once their family is together and safe again. They _will_.

Dean immediately reverts to hunting mode. “Right, I know. We’ve gotta be close.” He pulls away, swinging his blade easily in his hand, playing it like an instrument, as he fiercely stalks forward again. All Castiel gets is a mere raise of his eyebrows, beckoning him to follow into whatever battle might await them. And Castiel does follow him, as willingly as he always has and always will.

It’s hardly the time or place, but Castiel’s feelings for Dean suddenly overwhelm him, unbidden.  He keeps pace with his husband, his body in the present, while his mind races. His feelings for Dean are not even remotely new, but they never cease to be able to catch him off-guard, shake him to his core.

This, he realizes, _this_ is the man he fell in love with. The man who is as fierce in love as he is in war. The man whom he found in Hell, drowning in blood and rage and his own consuming guilt, but whose soul shone so brightly even so. The man who has claimed Castiel—heart, body, and soul—innumerable times, just as Castiel has claimed him. Dean Winchester marches into his daughter’s tea parties with his head held as highly as he does when marching to her rescue.  He is obstinate and selfless to the point of self-destruction and protective and intelligent and loving. He is the best man, husband, father, Castiel has ever encountered.

Castiel loves him. A lot.

He’ll be sure to tell him at least a thousand more times than he already would have once they’re out of this mess.

He will, of course, tell his children the same a thousand times each, as well.

Their small moment to catch their breath ends abruptly as Castiel hears a loud roar from only a few feet to their left. Another monster jumps out from its hiding spot, lunging at his husband.

“Look out!” shouts Izzy from behind them.

“Dean!” Castiel calls, getting his attention. Dean immediately pivots, and must notice the creature has no fangs, because he immediately goes for his gun, sinking two silver bullets into the monster’s abdomen. And just in case that doesn’t do the job, Castiel comes up behind her and jabs his silver knife into the left side of her chest.

She falls to the ground, and they both pant together for a moment. “Gotta be close,” Dean says. “I know we destroyed a number of monster families in our day, but no way has she got that many more revenge-seeking sicko minions up her sleeve.” He holds up the half of the spear shaft in his left hand, glowing brightly. “And I don’t think this thing can get much hotter before it combusts.”

He’s right. Once Izzy and Wendy catch up with them—the other four must still be occupied with monster further back—they keep moving in the direction the spear tells them to, deeper into the forest. The spear shaft gets so hot at one point that they have to start taking turns holding it so as to not scald their hands.

But it’s not Lamia they spot first. It’s a net, nearly hidden by a cluster of short, leafy trees. A net that looks like two small figures are stuck underneath it.

Heart pounding, Castiel takes off at a run, heedless of any other danger right now. He hears another set of rapid footsteps—Dean—behind him.  Castiel can barely think right now, can only keep moving towards his children. And he knows it’s them now, it must be them, he can hear two small voices crying and yelling, and he’s never been so relieved to hear their ear-piercing cries in his life, because it means they’re _alive_ , and that’s all that matters.

He’s closing the distance, so near them now, just a—

Castiel’s feet sweep out from under him all of a sudden. He doesn’t even have time to make a noise before he’s crashing into a tree, ribcage-first.

The air is knocked out of his as he hits the ground, vaguely hearing Dean yells his name through the ringing in his ears. Years ago, Castiel might have been able to pick himself up from such a fall. But now, even with his family on the line, he struggles to get his arms under him. Fighting an immortal demigoddess may be tougher than they’d anticipated.

Castiel hears Dean choke out a cry of pain as well, and looks up just in time to see the half of the spear light up even more brightly—ostensibly getting hotter as well—before flying out of Dean’s grasp—

And right into a woman’s hand.

“Thank you for that,” she says, her voice low and enchanting but rattling with power. Castiel doesn’t need to see her Greek robes, or even her face, mostly unchanged since he last saw it, to know this is Lamia. “Yet another thing you stole from me, finally returned to its rightful owner.”

Dean doesn’t waste any time, already boiling over with rage, just charges Lamia, silver knife in hand. Lamia dodges the blow, gracefully side-steps and sends Dean hurtling into another tree with barely a flick of her wrist.

“If you could all just sit still for a moment,” she drawls, and just like that, Castiel feels himself freeze up where he’d just gotten to his feet, as if his skeleton has become fixed. He looks to Dean in panic, seeing him in a similar state. Castiel can’t turn his head to see Izzy or Wendy, but imagines they’ve been caught as well. “I’d like to have a chat about manners before I obliterate you all.

“First things first, though,” Lamia says. She raises the two halves of the spear, lining up the broken ends. They snap together like puzzle pieces, the light fading from blinding to glowing. Lamia holds up the intact spear. “Pesky spell, isn’t it? Great for location, even better for reparation. I suppose, had I been really adamant about finding you, I could have done with it myself. But then the ingredients are so hard to acquire, and I had no way of knowing you’d keep it.”

“We like souvenirs,” Dean retorts, earning a glare from Lamia.

“I’m sure,” she replies. “Well, this way is so much more fun, anyway. I feed so rarely, it’s worth it to make the chase exciting for all involved.”

Finding his voice, Castiel speaks up. “Killing you will be very exciting, yes.”

She grins. It makes Castiel nauseous. “Lovely to see neither of you has lost your charm over the years. I, however, lost a great deal during our last encounter. So kind of you to lead my shifters right to her, though. And with a bonus prize too.”

Realizing she’s talking about Mary and Robbie, Castiel growls. “Mary is _not_ yours. She never was, and never will be. Neither of them are.”

“The girl _is_ mine,” Lamia shrieks. The ground tremors with the power behind her words. “You two are the monsters. You and the rest of the thieving parents I took. Stealing children away from others, away from _me?_ Despicable.” She twirls her spear thoughtfully. “That’s why I had to ensure that I not only recover her, but also that the two of you paid for what you’d done.”

“Then why all the theatrics?” Dean demands, his body vibrating and shaking as though he’s trying to free himself from her spell. They need a distraction, Castiel thinks. “Why all the other disappearances, and all the other freaks and geeks we mowed through to get to you?”

Lamia scowls. “You two are harder to track than you realize, unfortunately. But I knew the vicinity in which to start looking. So I started there, and recruited a few resentful creatures to aid in the search. Of course, when we learned we had all been wronged by the same people—the Winchesters—it only sweetened the pot. You have no idea how many broken families you leave in your wake. Many of them were happy to assist me in my quest for revenge. Not all were successful of course. I planned to take my sweet darling back the night before this, but I put a little too much faith in the competency of assistants and lost two for the transgression. One, the wraith in the forest I’d sent to distract you, and the second for his slip-up that nearly cost me my children.”

“I try not to get too teary-eyed about the monster families we leave behind, or the ones who end up dead because of your shitty plan to steal my fucking kids,” Dean bites out. “Besides, you’re the one destroying perfectly good human ones. Families that, for the record, don’t have a history of _eating_ their kids, or killing anyone at all.”

“You’ll just have to accept that we’re from two different worlds,” Lamia says, still slowly making her way around the forest floor, her gaze flicking between Dean and Castiel. “And in my world, we like to make assurances.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Castiel demands, struggling against his own frozen body.

“You see, I could have just stolen the girl from you, but having met you once, I knew that that sort of thinking would not be beneficial to my … longevity. So I knew that luring you off with the idea of rescuing the girl—”

“That’s _my kid_ you’re talking about,” Dean growls.

“—would not only allow me to assure myself you wouldn’t come after me again, but also be tremendously satisfying.”

Her wicked grin suddenly turns into a gasp as Castiel detects movement behind them.

“Try this for satisfying,” Wendy spits out. From the corner of his eye, Castiel sees her drive a knife into Lamia’s chest from behind. Lamia looks shocked, but not hurt. Why would she be? They know what should kill her, and a silver knife is not it.

 _It’s not supposed to kill her_ , Castiel realizes. _It’s a distraction._

Sure enough, he feels his body unlock, slumping a bit under the weight of having to hold itself up again. His side still aches horribly, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s broken a rib or two.

Good distraction though it is, it doesn’t pay off for Wendy. Knife still protruding from her chest, she whirls around in a rage, the movement alone knocking Wendy off her feet.

In one swift movement, Lamia’s foot comes down on Wendy’s shin, and Castiel hears a sickening _crunch_ as Wendy lets out a choked off scream.

“Wendy!” Izzy yells in a panic, revealing where she’d been hiding behind another wide tree, only for Lamia to send her flying backwards with a supernatural growl.

Trying to stifle his own panic and use the adrenaline to his advantage, Castiel stumbles forward, prepared to wrestle Lamia away from his children with his bare hands if he must.

Even through the commotion, Lamia recovers enough to notice Castiel coming towards her, and flips her hand at him, sending him flipping onto the ground with it. He groans, unbelievable pain shooting up and down his side.

He hopes Dean takes the window Castiel has given him, though.

Dean does. Dean has managed to sneak around and avoid being thrown into the air like the rest of them, miraculously, and has found a good position to attack from. And attack he does, strong arm swinging the stake, wrapped in snakeskin and covered in blood, straight at her heart.

Lamia catches his arm just as it reaches its target, but not quick enough. The stake goes straight into her ribcage, Dean’s strike perfectly aimed, and—it does nothing.

Castiel knows what a fatal blow looks like, and that is not it.

The stake goes straight in just as the knife did, with the same effect. It barely fazes her. Now, Castiel knows, they are in serious trouble.

“You will _not_ rob me of this child again!” Lamia cries, the trees shaking. Or maybe it’s just Castiel, every muscle frozen in shock, while tensed to spring simultaneously.

Before he can do anything, though, she twists Dean’s left arm in her grasp. Dean’s wrist bends at an unnatural angle and he stumbles to his knees, gasping in pain.

Castiel’s heart nearly stops. “Dean!”

Lamia releases him and Dean goes crashing to the forest floor, clutching his arm. The stake lands on the ground too, catches flame almost as an afterthought by the flick of Lamia’s wrist, who spares it one fleeting look in disgust. But Castiel is more worried about Dean than their weapon.  

Mercifully, his shout has reminded her of Castiel’s presence, and instead of finishing Dean as he’d feared she’d do, she stalks towards him instead.

Castiel scrambles back, unable to get his legs under him, unable to reach any weapon still on him, unable to do _anything_.

“This was fun,” she intones, her voice infused with that power once again. Her spear dangles from her hand, poised directly above Castiel’s chest. “But I’m afraid your time is running out. I’m done with you, Winchesters.”

“Funny, I was just about to say we’re done with you.”

Dean is standing behind Lamia, having gotten the advantage once again while her back was turned. Unheeding of his wrist, he locks Lamia’s arms behind her back and Castiel springs to his feet with a burst of adrenaline.

“Stay away from our family,” Castiel growls, low and threatening. “Forever.”

He takes the opening, ripping her spear from her limp, twisted hands, and thrusting it straight through her heart.

She screams wretchedly, burning from the inside out, the force so much that Castiel grips the spear more tightly to keep himself upright.

With a final burst of light, her body goes limp, and the light fades, plunging the forest into darkness.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean releases Lamia and tosses her to the ground. He barely pays attention though, stumbling forward into Cas, uninjured hand clutching at his coat. Cas' legs buckle around the same time as Dean’s, the two of them crashing to their knees, but Dean doesn’t care. It’s over. A bit of relief washes through him, but it wars with the adrenaline still flooding his system.

Cas' arms come up around him around him briefly, and Dean knows he needs to move, needs to get his kids and make sure they’re alright.  But he also needs Cas, needs to draw strength from him for a second, and from the way Cas is holding him painfully close, Dean imagines Cas needs a couple seconds too.

“You okay?” Dean asks, words stumbling over each other in his haste, good hand dropping down to hover at Cas' side.

Cas nods. “I’m fine. Are you?”

“Peachy.” His arm doesn’t feel broken, at least not severely, and with the adrenaline still pumping through him he can barely feel it anyway.

“Good.”

Split-second reprieve over, they let go of each other. Sam and Ezra are still finishing off one of the vampires in the distance, and Wendy is still clutching her leg on the ground, but Izzy is with her; they’ll all be fine.  Dean’s number one priority is getting Mary and Robbie out of here, like, yesterday.

He scrambles to his feet runs straight for them, both of them still crying and calling for him and Cas and making other distressed noises that make Dean’s heart break. His knees give out and he drops down in front of them, trying to reach his fingers through the net they’re tangled in so he can grab their hands, wipe the tears from their cheeks, anything to comfort them.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay, you’re safe, I’m here,” he murmurs on repeat, keeping his eyes fixed on theirs and trying to keep his voice steady where it feels like it’s going to crack and tremble.  

The netting is too tight for his hands to get through, so he abandons the goal of reaching for Mary and Robbie in favour of trying to undo the knots.  Dean fingers scrabble for purchase in the rope, looking for the edges of the net or a weak link in the weave, tugging at it with both hands even though his left wrist is screaming in protest. It won’t give way, though. Meanwhile his hands are shaking and his kids won’t stop crying but he can barely hear it over his heartbeat pounding in his ears and his own eyes are starting to blur and shit he left his last sharp weapon buried in Lamia’s chest and he can’t fucking breathe—

“Here, I got it,” comes a voice, full of practiced calmness. Izzy, looking a little worse for wear but still kicking, kneels down next to him.  With one hand she pulls out a knife, the other resting on Dean’s back to settle him.

He doesn’t need to be settled, he needs his kids out of this net and in his arms, right now.

Thankfully, Izzy helps make that happen. Her knife cuts through rope after rope, tearing a hole, while Dean just sits there attempting to hold his kids even with the net between them, mumbling whatever words of comfort come to mind, feeling useless and but doing his best to keep himself together.

As soon as the hole is big enough, Dean and Izzy hold the netting apart as first Robbie clambers out, quickly followed by Mary, both of them barreling into Dean the second they’re free.

“Daddy, daddy,” Mary whines, her short, lanky arms wrapping around Dean’s neck as she nuzzles her tear-streaked face into Dean’s shirt. Robbie curls into his side just as tightly. On instinct, Dean’s arms reach around them both and crush them to his chest. Mary’s knees are digging into Dean’s thighs and the arm wrapped around Robbie is throbbing painfully but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t give a damn, not when he can finally have two of the most important people in his life back in his arms, not when he can tighten his arm around his son and bury his nose in his daughter’s hair and finally breathe again.

They stay locked together in a pile on the forest floor for what feels like hours but is probably only a minute or so. Dean’s not exactly itching to move though; he’d happily remain here forever, his family finally safe and together again.

“I love you, I love you, you’re okay, everything’s okay …”

Mary and Robbie’s sobs quiet down to soft little whines and hiccups, sounds that don’t exactly make Dean feel good, but at least they don’t make him want to die anymore. His own continuous shuddering has only worsened if anything.

Ezra speaks up from a little ways away. “Not that I wanna interrupt, but we do need to clear out.”

As much as Dean’s loath to ever agree with guy, and would love to keep holding his kids for another few hours or so, they do need to get moving.

Izzy, still nearby, steps in then. “Dean, you’re hurt.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” she insists. Dean wants to disagree with her again, but another spike of pain shoots up his arm, silencing him momentarily as he grits his teeth. Izzy turns to Mary instead.  

“Mary, you need to help your brother get out of here, get to the car, okay?”

Dean’s heart slams into his throat.

_Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don’t look back. Now, Dean, go!_

They’re the earliest words he can remember, clear as day, like his father is in this forest with him screaming to put himself last, always.

For years now, Cas and Sam have been trying to get him to realize how detrimental Dean’s attitude of having to do everything and anything for his brother, most often at his own expense, was. It took a while, but Dean did eventually acknowledge that a lot of things John had told him, a lot of the beliefs he’d instilled in him, had really fucked up him. Namely, his compulsion to carry every guilt-inducing thing on his shoulder.

More than that, though, the very fundamental idea that Sam’s accomplishments, failures, and problems were always more important than his own. And then, that not only should John care more about Sam than him, but that he should too.

He shouldn’t have been responsible for Sam. And Mary is not going to feel responsible for Robbie, or vice versa, not like that, not ever.

But his kids, his babies, them he is responsible for.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Dean holds up his hand before either of his kids have a chance to move.

“No, it’s okay. That isn’t your job, Mary, it’s mine. I can carry both of you.”

Mary, who had been hesitating a moment ago, holds her arms out for Dean, Robbie stumbling forwards too until Dean has them both tight in his grasp again.

Izzy fidgets a bit, looking like she wants to help but not by interfering with what just happened. Taking pity on her, he tells her, “Go check on Wendy, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, go,” he ushers. She seems relieved, running off back to her friend.

Robbie sniffles by his ear. “Daddy, wanna go home.”

“Me too,” Mary says, her voice wobbly.

“We’re going, I promise,” he assures them. “We’ll be home before you know it.”  

Resolve renewed, he gathers them in close again, trying to keep as much weight off his wrist as possible, Robbie tucked into the curve of his elbow instead. The moment he tries to lift them, pain radiates up his arm and through his entire body.  

Dean tries to get moving, tries to grit his teeth and bear it; he’s made it through worse before.  But somehow the crushing weight of his hyperactive emotions bearing down on him too, make him lose his grip. 

He can’t do it, he can’t keep them safe and it’s all his fault.  He’s the worst dad ever, he’s never been cut out for this.  He’s supposed to take care of his family, it’s his responsibility, and it’s not much to ask but he can’t even do that right now, taken out by a goddamn broken wrist.

It’s a long time coming when tears finally start pricking at his eyes, spilling over faster than he can blink them away.  Mary’s asking, “What’s wrong, daddy?” and it just makes him cry harder, he’s so useless, what’s the point—

Just then, as if sent by heaven itself, two strong hands reach down and carefully lift Robbie out of Dean’s arms.

Dean looks up to see Cas, standing over him, now clutching Robbie against his chest, eyes equally filled with tears, gazing at Dean like he’d do anything to have his wings back to fly them all out of here right this second.

Cas doesn’t have wings anymore, but he does have Dean. And Dean’s got Cas.

He is responsible for these two small people, but he doesn’t have to do it alone. Neither of them have to do it alone. That’s the point—Dean needs Cas, and vice versa, and their kids need both of them together. Their family is unconventional and patchwork but it’s a family in the truest sense of the word, the only sense that matters.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks, voice filled with worry.

Dean nods carefully. “Better now.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. Wendy needed help making a provisional splint for her leg, and I was right there—I wanted to come help you sooner—”

Dean cuts him off.  “Cas, it’s okay.  You’re here now.  I’d’ve muddled through on my own, by my wrist …”

“I know, we’ll get it looked at soon. Do you want me to take Mary too?”

“Nah, you’re hurt too, dude.  I’ve got her.”  He presses a kiss into her hair to demonstrate.  “I could use a little help getting up, though.”

Cas reaches down, gripping Dean’s upper arm as Dean levers himself onto his feet for the third time. Once he’s stable, Cas lets go, only to place his hand on Mary’s head and kiss her cheek. He does the same for Robbie, and finally Dean, this time on the lips. It’s just a short, reassuring press, but it makes Dean’s world feel a little lighter.

“I’ve got you, Dean,” Cas whispers determinedly against his lips, their foreheads resting in quiet comfort.

“Isn’t that my line?” he whispers back, heart rate slowing down to a normal pace with every deep breath Cas takes against him.

“Not always.” Cas shakes his head minutely and kisses Dean again, quickly and gently and like always, exactly how he wants it.

They pull away from each other then, and with both kids safe in their parents’ arms, Dean and Cas turn to survey the damage. Lamia’s body is still there, with several of her monster minions strewn around her. There are probably more dead bodies along the way they came, Dean thinks gloomily. He tucks Mary closer against him, trying to tuck her face into his neck to hide the sight from her. Cas does the same with Robbie.

But dead bodies of monsters aside, all of their friends look alive and okay, if a little worse for wear. A little ways off, Charlie and Izzy are supporting Wendy between them, her lower leg clearly broken, but her head is leaned towards Izzy and they seem to be talking, so Dean thinks she’ll be okay. Seeing the way Wendy is angled towards Izzy, and the way Izzy’s free hand seems to flutter everywhere in concern, he amends that statement. _They_ ’ _ll_ be okay.

As Dean and Cas make their way towards them, Sam, Jody and Ezra reappear from deeper in the forest. “Hey,” Sam says, out of breath.

“Got ‘em all?” Dean asks, intentionally vague.

“You know it,” Ezra replies. He tries for some enthusiasm but it falls flat, even he seems to realize.

“And get this,” Sam continues. “The other victims who’ve disappeared, the parents of all those kids? They’re tied up back there too, all of them still breathing. I checked.”

“That’s a relief,” Cas says. He and Dean exchange a look. There’s been enough tragedy here tonight, and there was nearly more. Finding out all the missing people are alive? Yeah, that one feels good.

Sam hums in assent. “They are gonna need an ambulance though. Not only can we not carry and transport them all back, but some of them are in pretty bad shape.”

Mary whining into his shoulder reminds him that he can’t just hang around though, not like this. His wrist throbs again as if to agree with her. Dean looks to Sam helplessly.

His brother seems to get it, though, nodding gravely. “We’ll take care of it,” he says. “Get rid of the, uh, mess, and call an ambulance once it’s clear.”

“Thanks,” Dean tells him. “We’ll touch base in the morning, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, no worries. One of you guys can drive, right?” Sam asks. Cas nods, saving Dean the trouble of lying. “Then we’re good. Go home. Take care of your kids, dude.” Sam reaches out to stroke a hand over Mary’s hair where she’s cradled in Dean’s arms. She hiccups another sob. Dean can’t take much more of his kids crying, he decides. Ever. “And tell Mackenzie I’m okay.”

“We will,” Cas assures him.

Cas is limping as they make their way back through the forest, but there’s not much Dean can do, he realizes, a wave of guilt and helplessness washing through him. The best they can do right now is get back to the car, and get back home.

They catch up with Charlie, Izzy and Wendy on the way back. “You guys okay to make it back to the cars?” Dean asks.

“No sweat,” Charlie tells him, faking a grin. “Well, maybe a little sweat. I forgot how much of a workout hanging with you guys is.”

“We’re okay,” Izzy says more to-the-point.

“Speak for yourself,” Wendy grits out, but there’s a light teasing under her words.

“Hey,” Charlie says, “you mind if the rest of us crash at the batcave? I don’t think we’re up for the hour-long drive back to your place. Plus, you probably wanna be alone. _Plus_ , the bunker has an infirmary. So it’s win-win-win.”

“Anything you need, kiddo,” Dean answers.

“Just get those actual kiddos home, okay?”

Dean smiles gratefully at her, holding Mary a little tighter.

The trek back to the cars isn’t actually very long, but between the extra weight they’re carrying, and the weariness and pain from their injuries, it feels like it takes hours. Despite being on their way to safety, Mary and Robbie are still audibly upset—at least Mary has settled down a bit, but Robbie hasn’t stopped crying since Dean found them. What he wouldn’t give for a teleporter right now.

But eventually, the outline of the Impala does appear. He and Cas quicken their pace, eager for the comfort and safety of what was Dean’s home for almost thirty years, and still is, to an extent.

Before strapping Mary into her car seat, though, Dean knocks on the window of Sam’s car, leaning down as Mackenzie lowers the window.

“Thank God you guys are okay,” she breathes. “Is Sam …?”

“He’s fine,” Dean says, “just doing some clean up. You might wanna stay here until he gets back,” he adds with a grimace. “You probably wouldn’t like it.”

“I don’t _like_ any of this,” Mackenzie insists, opening the door and standing up to stare at him, as if daring him to order her back in the car. “But he’s my husband, and I want to see him, I want to know he’s okay. So as long as there are no more monsters or Greek gods or whatever, I’m not staying locked in the car any longer.”

Dean glances at Cas, strapping Robbie into his car seat while trying to soothe and shush him with a gentle voice. He can relate, he supposes.

Mackenzie heads off, and Dean opens the door to strap Mary into her own booster seat. She doesn’t want to be let go of, though, and clings to his shirt and neck with fierce little fingers and loud whines that make Dean’s chest feel hollow. He looks at Cas, struggling with Robbie in a similar manner. Dean doesn’t want to let go of Mary, either, he realizes.

“I can’t drive,” he says to Cas, “not with this busted wrist and that blow to my head. Not with the kids in the backseat.”

Cas nods. “I suppose I can.” He doesn’t look happy about it, holding Robbie’s hand still.

Dean holds his eyes, pleading. “Just an hour, I promise. We’ll be home soon.” It makes more sense to go to the bunker—it’s safer, and closer—but despite the extra drive, Dean doesn’t want to unsettle his kids any more than they already are.

“I wanna go home,” Mary pipes up, as if reading Dean’s mind.

“I know, sweetheart, shh.” Dean continues to stare at Cas. “I’ll stay back here with them, okay?”

“I think I would rather our roles be reversed,” Cas sighs, “but okay. Robbie, daddy’s gonna sit with you in the backseat, okay? Please don’t cry.”

With that, Dean climbs into the narrow space between the car seats, sitting Mary in her own as he goes. Ideally, they’d forget the car seats and Dean would just hold them both. But he’s not risking anything happen to them.

Just like the walk to the car, the hour-long drive out of the forest and back down the highway feel far too long. Dean tries to read a book out loud, one with bright colours that he finds tucked in one of the pockets behind the front seat, but it’s too dark to really make out the words. Even when they drive under a street lamp, Dean finds his hands and voice shaking too much for a story to comfort anyone. Cas eventually turns on the radio, and some acoustic kid-friendly music fills the car, just as out of place as the colourful picture book. Dean settles for just talking to his kids, meaningless, distracting things, and catches Cas' eyes in the rear-view mirror probably too often.

“Daddy?” says Mary at one point while Dean’s wiping the tears and snot off of Robbie’s face with the end of his sleeve.

“Yeah, Mary?” He fights to keep his voice steady for her.

“Are you still mad at me?”

Dean feels something in his chest twist painfully. “Of course not, baby girl. I was never mad at you. Why would you say that?”

Mary looks down. “Because you were bein’ all loud and mean to me and stuff, and we didn’t go home after school.”

“I—” Dean stutters, his heart thudding so hard he’s genuinely worried it’s gonna beat out of his chest. God, not only did their kids have to go through this horror of a night, but now Dean and Cas are gonna _have_ to explain everything to them. What happened to them tonight and _why_ it happened to them and why their parents just fucking killed a bunch of normal-looking people in front of them.

He swallows. “That wasn’t me, Mary,” is all he can get out.

“Yes it was,” she says.

His eyes are burning with tears again. Cas is looking at him with deep concern through the rear-view mirror, but like Dean, doesn’t seem to be able to say anything. “He—it was someone pretending to be me, Mary. Like on Halloween.” He’s practically hyperventilating. “I would never do that to you, or Robbie, okay? That man was … really bad, but he’s gone now. I’m real, I’m here. And I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you, okay?”

Mary nods sleepily. He reaches his good arm towards her, stroking her cheek, and she cuddles into it. “He looked a lot like you.”

“I know.” Dean exhales shakily. “I’ll explain it better when you’re not so tired, okay? Just close your eyes, try to get some sleep, sweet pea.”

When they finally pull onto their street and into their driveway, Dean could cry of relief, if he weren’t basically out of tears after the last few hours. One-handedly unbuckling Robbie and Mary from their car seats, he accidentally catches sight of the glowing clock on the dashboard, and winces at the numbers 2:03.

Cas is immediately out of the car and lifting Robbie into his arms. “Dean, should we …?”

“What?” Dean asks, struggling to get Mary settled against him again once he’s on his feet. Damn, his wrist really needs to get looked at.

“I don’t know,” Cas says. “I feel like there’s something better we should be doing. I don’t know what the procedure for this is.”

Dean looks at Robbie, finally quiet, and his half-lidded eyes. Mary also keeps glancing between the house and Dean’s face, as if silently asking him if they’re allowed to go inside.

“The best thing we can do right now is nothing,” Dean decides. The adrenaline in his own system slowly faded out over the car ride, and he’s barely keeping his feet under himself anymore. “Sleep first. We’ll figure the rest out in the morning.”

Slowly they make their way up the steps to the house, in through the door, and up the inside stairs as well. Dean understands Cas' hesitation—he feels restless too, like there’s something more he should be doing, like salting the windows or getting out more weapons to keep in his bedside table. But all of those things would involve putting Mary down, which, like earlier, is something he’s just not willing to do.

At the top of the stairs, it’s Dean’s turn to hesitate. His eyes fall on the door to Mary’s bedroom, knowing she’s probably be most comfortable there, but it’s not where _he’ll_ be the most comfortable having her right now. His arm tightens around Mary as if to emphasize that to himself. Cas seems to have the same thought, but is much more decisive than Dean, apparently. “Our room,” he says.

The four of them continue down the hallways to the master bedroom, making their way to the bed in the dark. They climb onto Dean and Cas' bed, barely remembering to kick off all their shoes on the floor.

Dean and Cas arrange themselves on either side of the bed with both kids between them.  They form a shield around them, Dean thinks, as if daring anything to fucking _try_ and get to Mary and Robbie without going through Dean and Cas first. Dean winces at his injured wrist sort of wedged around Mary, but he can hold her with his other arm, and that’s the important part.

Robbie sniffles, breaking the silence.

“Everything’s okay,” Cas says, stroking fingers through his hair. “We’re home now, and safe. You can sleep soundly.”

Mary and Robbie, obviously exhausted, take that to heart, and are both fast asleep within minutes.

Dean thinks it’s unlikely he’s going to sleep as soundly as that tonight—or any night soon. The worst of it is over, but explaining monsters to his kids? That’s gonna be difficult in every way imaginable. Not to mention going to work with the cast he’s probably gonna have on his wrist, and just trying to remember how normal life works after something so monumentally jarring as tonight. Dean’s terrified and exhausted just thinking about what the next few days will bring.

But … he’s got a bit of faith. He still has his family, and his friends—shit, he realizes, no one died tonight, and that’s a huge victory on its own. He’s got Sam and Mackenzie, and Jody and Charlie, and old friends who couldn’t be here, and new friends who could, and it’s amazing how relieving it is to realize he doesn’t have to handle this stuff alone anymore.

He’s still got his kids, safe and unharmed, sleeping between him and Cas. And yeah, he’s got Cas, too. Their track record for getting through impossibly fucked up situations is pretty good, so far.

He and Cas keep their eyes on each other in the dim room, taking comfort from just each other’s presence.

“Everything’s okay,” Cas repeats in a whisper, directly to Dean this time.

_It’s not_ , Dean thinks. But hopefully, with time, it will be.


	14. Chapter 14

Castiel tosses and turns for hours, unable to sleep for more than twenty minutes at a time, anxiety and stress keeping him from relaxing. He tries to stay still and silent, if only for Mary and Robbie’s sake—periodically he catches Dean’s eyes across the bed, and knows that Dean is in the same position as him.

His chest aches with every breath, which is probably largely from the bruising on his ribs, but feels like it comes from a deeper place. His mind reels with all the different ways tonight could have played out, all of them making him sick to his stomach.

Slowly but surely, time does pass. At 4:51 Castiel closes his eyes, and the next time he opens them the clock reads 6:28, which he supposes is sufficient. Dull gray light is just beginning to edge around the curtains, and when he rolls over, Dean is already wide awake, staring at the ceiling.

His own aches and pains kept him partly awake during the night, but Dean's arm took the worst injury in the fight.

"Dean," he whispers after a few minutes, quiet enough to not wake the sleeping children between them. Dean hears him though and their eyes meet for the first time all night.

“Mmm.”

“Come with me,” he says, crawling out of bed, pausing to carefully rearrange the covers around Mary and Robbie, and softly kiss each of their foreheads.

“Where are you going?” Dean asks, eyebrows knitting together.

“I can’t sleep anymore, and your arm needs to be looked at.”

Dean lets Cas pull him away for a moment to their en-suite bathroom. They flick on the shower light so as not to disturb the children trying to sleep just through the doorway, but so they can still keep an eye on them as well as inspect each other’s wounds.

The first thing they both do is take pain killers from the extra strength ibuprofen they keep in the first aid kit, and guzzle a full glass of water with it. The water has more of an immediate effect than the drugs in clearing his head a little, and does wonders for Dean’s willingness to have his injuries taken care of.

Dean sits on the edge of the bathtub and him, on the closed toilet seat lid beside Dean, the first aid kit open on the ground in front of them. Castiel removes his outer shirt, and rolls it as gently as he can down Dean’s left arm. His body throbs with pain from his own injuries, but he numbs it out to focus on Dean for now.

Antiseptic wipes are first, he washes away blood and dirt from the few lashes up his arm with the cloths, Dean hissing slightly with the stinging burn. Cas frowns deeply at the wound on his arm and continues cleaning the blood away, wishing he had powers left to heal Dean instantaneously.

Castiel’s eyes glance up slightly to the flat against the expanse of his thick muscled upper arm. His fingers trail slowly up Dean’s arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they come up to grip over the cap of his shoulder, the warm points of pressure echo memories of a long gone, but not forgotten, searing brand.

“There are times I wish I could still heal with a single touch,” he admits. “Right now is certainly shaping up to be one of those.”

Dean’s uninjured hand comes up to squeeze over Castiel’s on his shoulder, and a pained but understanding smile makes its way fleetingly onto Dean’s face before his expression falls again, along with his hand.

Castiel returns to the injury, grabbing a tensor bandage from the kit and wrapping Dean’s arm in it. He binds it across his forearm, and up past his elbow, and ties it off there, self-indulgently placing a kiss on his hand. Dean doesn’t let him get too far away before turning their bodies towards each other and wrapping his good right arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pulling him in tight.

Castiel lets out a small surprised noise as Dean crushes their chests together and strong arms come up to wrap around his back. They hold each other, rocking a little with the force of it, and Castiel closes his eyes and leans into the embrace. Dean’s breath blows past the hairs behind his ear and Castiel revels in the close peacefulness of this small moment in their bathroom, the first dredges of daylight starting to leak through the window.

Dean shifts against him, his arm unfortunately knocking against Castiel’s ribcage. The shock of the still-present pain punches the breath out of him in a hiss, and Dean draws back, looking worried.

“It’s just bruised,” Castiel says, brushing him off.

“Rib injuries can be pretty bad,” Dean says insistently. “Let me have a look.”

Castiel allows him to gently lift his shirt up, keeping it hitched under his armpits while Dean runs his hands along his torso. There’s no heat or insistence to it, just feather-light strokes over the bruised patches, presumably checking for possible fractures or internal bleeding.

“Doesn’t feel like anything’s broken,” Dean eventually deems, standing back to full height. “But I’m no doctor.”

“Nor am I. We’ll both make a trip to the clinic soon.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean breathes out.

It barely takes five seconds of inactivity before Castiel’s thoughts are drawn back to the two sleeping children in their bed. Taking Dean’s hand once again, he leads him back into the bedroom.

He hadn’t realized how anxious he’d become just during those short moments in the adjacent room, but his entire body seems to relax some upon seeing Mary and Robbie, still curled up in the center of their bed, sound asleep.

“Do you think you can sleep anymore?” he asks Dean.

Dean runs a hand over his face. Castiel can see the dark circles under his eyes, every aspect of his body looking tired. He must look similar. “Not really,” he replies.

“Me neither,” Castiel admits. “But I still want to stay here with them.”

“I know,” Dean says on a sigh. “Me too.”

They both stand there, hands clasped and eyes fixed on Mary and Robbie, and Castiel thinks he has lost count of the number of times he has stood and watched over the sleep of his loved ones, but that he would happily do it every night at the expense of his own sleep just to keep his family safe.

Castiel compromises with himself by taking a seat in the plush chair by their window, where he can watch over them undisturbed. Dean comes and sits on the floor at his feet, grabs a novel that he pretends to read, even though Castiel can see that he only turns a few pages within the time they sit there. Castiel just plays with Dean’s hair idly, watching the light play off the golden and greying strands, until his gaze is inevitably tugged back to his children.

Sometime past 9:00, the pile of blankets finally stirs.

“Papa?” calls Robbie.

Castiel is immediately at his side, reaching to smooth a hand down his small arm. “I’m here, Robbie.”

“‘m hungry,” Robbie whines. Castiel realizes with a sinking feeling that they have likely not eaten since lunch yesterday. Lunch in which Castiel deprived them of cupcakes. It seemed like a reasonable thing at the time, but now he just feels guilty. His children deserve anything they want.

Almost as an afterthought, his stomach rumbles, and he remembers he and Dean had been too distressed to eat anything yesterday as well.

“I’ll go put on some breakfast,” Dean chimes in. His tone is as gentle and non-threatening as Castiel has ever heard it. “What do you want, bud? Scrambled eggs and toast? Pancakes?”

“Can I have French toast?” Robbie asks, still blinking tiredly.

“‘course, Robbie. Coming right up.”

Dean heads to the door, but pauses in the threshold, the creak of the hinges stretching into a long whine. He looks pointedly at Castiel, then at Mary and Robbie. Castiel understands and dutifully, happily, crawls back into bed and pulls Robbie onto his lap, keeping a watchful eye on both him and Mary while Dean makes them all breakfast downstairs.

“Papa?” Robbie asks, squirming around to face him.

“Try not to wake your sister,” Castiel tells him. He anticipates naps for both children today. It’s later than they usually sleep, but they hadn’t been in bed until well after 2:00 a.m.

“Papa,” Robbie begins again, stage-whispering. “Do I have to go to daycare?”

Castiel swallows. “No, you don’t. We all had a very long night, and sometimes when we’re all very tired, it’s okay to stay home for a day.”

“Does Mary go to school?”

“No, Mary will stay home with us, too. And your dad and I have nothing else to do today except stay with you two.” Technically Castiel still has classes to teach, but he’ll send his TA another apologetic email pleading for her to cover today. Or perhaps he’ll just cancel class altogether.

When Mary wakes up a few minutes later, Castiel repeats this to her.

She seems satisfied with not having to go to school. “Can we watch movies and play the memory matching game?”

“Of course,” he replies, swinging his hands back and forth where his fingers are clutched in Robbie’s little ones.

“Are uncle Sammy and auntie Mackenzie and auntie Charlie and auntie Jody all gonna come back?”

He isn’t sure. They did tell Sam they would keep in contact come morning, but Castiel doesn’t terribly want a lot of people hanging around in his home right now. Even close family. “I think they need to go home soon, but they will likely come say goodbye first.”

“Okay.” She plays with her shirt for a minute. “Papa, is the scary lady in the forest gone?”

With an extraordinary amount of self-control, Castiel keeps his voice and breathing even. “Yes, Mary.”

“What if she comes back?” Mary asks. Robbie looks up at him too, innocent blue eyes wanting answers.

“She won’t,” Castiel assures her.

“Why?”

“Because your dad and I made sure of it.”

“Did you hurt her?”

Castiel chokes and can’t answer.

Mary apparently takes that as answer enough. “Why?”

_Why aren’t you more scared?_ Castiel thinks. They watched him and Dean kill someone last night, after being tied in a net for hours. They should be scared, or angry, or upset, or crying, or anything else that he might be able to deal with, because he doesn’t know how to react to these innocent, curious questions. He doesn’t understand how they still trust him so much. And Castiel wants them to trust him, and Dean, always, but somehow he feels like they don’t deserve it right now.

Besides, if they trust him, then he needs to keep earning that trust by telling them the truth, and even though he’s been fighting Dean for the right to do just that for years, he’s not sure he can right now.

“Because she wanted to hurt you, and we will never let that happen,” Castiel eventually gets out.

“Why did she wanna hurt us?” Mary asks, and Castiel just … can’t, anymore.

“I’ll explain later,” he says. “Another time. Right now, I can’t—” He clears his throat. “Let’s just watch TV, okay? Daddy will be back with breakfast soon.”

Dean can’t get back soon enough.

But he does, a few minutes later, plastic plates, some cutlery, four glasses of juice, and slices of French toast piled on a tray. He hands a plate to Castiel, Mary and Robbie, before settling on the bed himself.

“Where’s your breakfast?” Castiel asks as Mary and Robbie devour their pieces of French toast, noting there were only three plates.

“Ate already,” Dean shrugs, not meeting his eyes.

“Dean.”

“I figured the kids would want extra, and there wasn’t enough bread, okay? I’m fine, I’ll have cereal later.”

“We bought another loaf of bread yesterday,” Castiel recalls aloud.

“Yeah, and left it on the driveway for raccoons to eat their fill of, along with all the rest of those groceries,” Dean whispers.

Right, Castiel remembers now. They’ll have to go shopping again eventually.

“Have some of mine,” Castiel tells him, pushing the second slice towards Dean.

“Dude, no, it’s fine. I’m not hungry.”

“Please,” Castiel begs, and finally Dean surrenders, steals Castiel’s fork and pops a bite into his mouth.

The tension in the air is still nearly palpable, full of all the anxiety and pre-emptive stress about the things they need to explain to their children, worry about how they will take it. It should be an enjoyable family breakfast in bed, but it just isn’t. Castiel wonders how many things will be soured by what they went through last night before their lives start to feel normal again.

Dismally, he wonders if they ever will.

The day does not improve much from there.

Dean and Castiel take turns showering after breakfast. Once they are both clean and dressed in new clothes, Castiel offers to do the dishes and leaves Dean with Mary and Robbie. When he is nearly done, Sam and Mackenzie arrive to ask how they are doing, and Castiel can only tiredly respond, “As well as can be expected.”

Sam nods glumly, but helps Castiel clear away the books and few weapons still sprawled around the first floor after last night before Dean brings the children back downstairs.

As promised, Castiel plays memory games with Mary on the floor of the living room while Robbie builds a new train track with Mackenzie just to his left. Dean and Sam are talking in low voices over in the kitchen. Castiel is half-listening to them, half-distracted by his own thoughts, and thoroughly not paying attention to which pictures are under which cards. Mary beats him with no effort. At least it makes her smile.

“Listen, they do want me back at work, but I’ll make them wait another few days if you want me around,” Sam is saying.

“Nah, man, you go home,” Dean replies. “We’ve kept you away from your real life long enough.”

“Are you sure? An extra set of hands or two could go a long way around here. I mean, these next few days …”

“Are gonna be torture? Yeah, don’t remind me. But dude, it’s gonna be like that whether you’re here or not, and you’ve got your own damage control to deal with, anyway,” Dean reminds him. Mackenzie had been willing to put her own curiosities aside for Mary and Robbie’s sake last night, but now that they are safe, he’s sure she’ll have a number of questions for Sam. “We’ll figure this out. Right now, no offense, but giving us some space is probably the best thing you could do.”

Sam reluctantly agrees to go home to Wichita with Mackenzie, with numerous insistences that if they need anything, he’ll drive right back up.

Once he’s gone, Dean returns to the living room, letting Mary crawl into his lap so he can brush out the tangled mess of her hair and do it up in a series of small braids. Castiel takes his turn away from his children, forces himself to go outside and bring in what can be salvaged of their groceries, throw out what can’t. He also waters the flowers, though is too anxious to expend the extra time using water from the rain barrel, so water from the hose it is.

An hour or so later, Charlie and Jody appear. They don’t stay for long, but Jody, in her eternal kindness, has brought them a few essential food items. “Just so you don’t have to make any big outings this weekend if you don’t wanna,” she explains, trying for a cheery smile but mostly just looking at Castiel sympathetically.

Charlie explains that she’s staying in the bunker for a few days, end of story, not negotiable.

“You don’t have to call me up or anything, but I’m there if you need anything, okay? Babysitter, grocery-go-getter, movie-selector … I’m at your disposal. Yours, and my two favourite munchkins in the world,” she adds, tickling Robbie in her arms until he squeals. The sound doesn’t quite make Castiel’s heart jump with happiness like it usually does.

“Thank you, Charlie,” Dean says sincerely.

“I mean, for starters, I can watch the kids while you two go to the hospital?” She looks them both up and down. “Aside from, like, expected amounts of not looking so good, all things considered, you two really don’t look so good.”

“Yeah, we’ll go …” He looks around uselessly. “Eventually.”

“Dean,” she says, in her best-friend-that-takes-no-shit voice, “your wrist is gonna be purple soon if you don’t get it looked at.”

He shakes his head. “Okay, fine. We’ll go today, I promise.”

“Do you want me to watch the kids?”

Castiel exchanges a look with Dean. “I … think we’d feel more comfortable taking them with us,” Castiel says. He knows that Mary in particular loathes going to the doctor’s office, and Robbie isn’t very fond of it either—Castiel is lucky if he can ever get them to be distracted by one of the wooden toys; otherwise the entire wait time will be filled with whining and arguing.  But even knowing they’ll protest, Castiel can’t imagine being apart from them right now.

Charlie looks like she wants to object, but rethinks it, and just nods.

After she leaves, giving each of them a tight hug and making them swear to call if they need anything— _anything_ —Dean and Castiel tell Mary and Robbie they’re going to the clinic—which might not even have toys for distraction, Castiel thinks, throwing a few books into their bag as a precaution.  

“Do we _have_ to?” Robbie whines.

“Your dad and I need to get a check-up so we can get better, Robbie. It won’t be long.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“What if we get food after the doctor’s?” Dean suggests. “It’s only …”

He stops, apparently looking at the time, which is nearly two in the afternoon already. Castiel blanches. How did they lose track of so much time? “Right,” Dean amends, “lunch first.”

The clatter of the pot on the stove while cooking a pot of macaroni and cheese—from the box, since they don’t have enough pasta for the homemade version—tells Castiel Dean is angry at himself for forgetting lunch.

“In fairness, I didn’t remember either,” Castiel appeases him.

“Yeah, whatever. Hope you like KD.”

“It’s excellent, Dean.”

“It’s not excellent,” Dean tells him. “It sucks. Just like everything else today.”

Castiel can tell when Dean wants his space.

At the clinic, Castiel is sent off with instructions to take painkillers a few times a day, permission to combine acetaminophen and ibuprofen if necessary. He thinks most of the pain in his chest right now is from the emotional toll these last few days have taken on him, not the physical one.

Dean, on the other hand, is given a wrist brace and a referral to a radiologist at the hospital for next week. Even though Dean shrugs and tells him it’s nothing, Castiel frowns, suspecting a wrist sprain to that degree has probably been hurting Dean more than he’s admitted.

Thankfully the clinic isn’t terribly busy and they don’t have to wait too long, but Castiel still feels every second of his children’s annoyance at him for dragging them to a doctor’s office. Castiel regrets it as well, but couldn’t bear the idea of leaving them at home while he _and_ Dean left for an hour.

He thinks this might become a problem, if he can’t stand any separation between them. But right now he can tell himself that it’s only for Mary and Robbie’s sake that he holds them so tightly in his arms, so he doesn’t plan to stop.

They get ice cream on the way home as an apology, but even his favourite pistachio almond ice cream doesn’t make him feel better.

“You’re not finishing your gross ice cream?” Dean asks, making short work of his own rocky road cone.

“I’m not hungry,” Castiel tells him.

“Dude, you feeling okay?” Dean tries to joke. It falls flat and he knows it.

Castiel decides it’s his own turn to be difficult. “No, not really.”


	15. Chapter 15

Cas offers to make dinner that night, leaving Dean feeling even more useless than he already does, even considering that the only thing he’s done all day is made sub-par food for his kids. But Cas throws together a stew while he watches over them in the family room.

He figures Robbie and Mary might not be that hungry, considering they have ice cream barely two hours ago, but he doesn’t really care. At the very least, it’s a chance for them to finally have a sit down meal together _again._

A knock at the door as he’s clearing their plates startles him so hard he nearly drops the serving bowl, narrowly avoiding a floor of broken glass. He’s been on edge since he woke up this morning—well, woke up is a loose interpretation. He didn’t sleep. Really, he’s been on edge since he drove home from school yesterday with no Mary in the back, and he can’t seem to shake the feeling. It’s driving him up the wall.

“I’ll clear the rest and get their bath running,” Cas offers, taking the bowl from Dean. “You get the door.”

“I think I’ll actually be glad if it’s those politicians asking to put up a sign this time,” Dean laughs, hollowly.

It isn’t politicians.

Actually, it’s the same people it was last time he thought it might be.

“Hey,” Izzy greets, shyly. Wendy and Ezra are standing behind her on the porch, looking guilty, or maybe just itching to get out of here.

Part of him wants to slam the door in their faces, shout at them and blame them for bringing all this into their perfectly fine lives, but even he has to admit, at the end of the day, it’s not really their fault.

“Hey,” he says instead, “you guys forget something, or …?”

“We just wanted to say goodbye,” Izzy says, fidgeting a bit. “Charlie’s back at the bunker, but we’ve completely cleared out of there, and our motel room in town. We’ll be … moving on, I guess.”

“Right,” Dean breathes. “Got wind of another case then?”

“Not yet,” she says with a shrug, “but it’s not like there’s anything left for us to do here. I didn’t think you’d want us to come in …”

Dean looks back into the house. “Yeah, better not.”

“So we thought we’d just … skip town sooner rather than later,” she finishes.

Dean hums approvingly. “Well … okay, then.”

“We just wanted to say thank you,” Wendy adds. “For your help and all. Probably wouldn’t have turned out so well without you guys, so thanks.”

 _Turned out well?_ Dean wants to say, incredulously. But then, he knows that to them, this was a win. Monsters ganked, civilians rescued, no innocent deaths.  Hunters don’t have to deal with the fallout. This is just another thing he’s always been on the other side of, never having to stick around and get back to real life once the rug’s been pulled out from under you.

“I guess I owe you guys some thanks too,” he finally says. “Wouldn’t’ve figured it all out without you, and … the turnout could have been a lot more of a hot mess than it is right now.” He tries not to think of what the alternative would be.

“Still,” Wendy says, holding herself up on crutches, injured leg bound in a heavy cast, “sorry for dragging you into this mess.”

“Not really your fault. I was dragged into this a long time ago,” he comments bitterly.

Ezra and Wendy say a last goodbye before heading back to their car, but Dean stops Izzy from following right away.

“So that’s just it? Business as normal?” he asks.

She looks at him like she doesn’t know what the right answer is. “Yeah? World keeps on turning, and there are still other people need saving.”

“Don’t your own lives matter at all?” He searches her face, looking for some sign that maybe this experience can have one good thing come out of if: getting some good kids out of the hunting life. “Hunting ain’t got a good life expectancy. And what you said about Wendy—I know you’re upset about the witchcraft stuff, and hunting is not the kinda lifestyle that makes forgiveness easy, but … none of this makes you wanna reconsider?”

“Maybe?” she says. “But Dean, come on. Even if we take a page from your book and get out, it doesn’t change what’s still out there. And right now, I can’t live with that without doing something about it.”

Well, now Dean just feels worse about his life. “Fine. Whatever.” He clears his throat. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I kind of hope we never see you again.”

“Likewise,” Izzy says with a sly grin. Her expression softens after a moment, though. “You guys will be okay, you know that?” Dean doesn’t know anything of the sort for sure right now, but he doesn’t fight her on it. “Wendy and I …” She scuffs her boot against the deck. “That I don’t know about anymore.”

“You should’ve seen me and Cas at the beginning,” he snorts. Izzy raises her eyebrows for further explanation. “His family was the cause of a lot of my suffering too, but you can’t just point fingers for the rest of your life, Izzy. I couldn’t.”

She pulls her big maroon scarf a little closer around her neck and rubs at her cold nose.

“Yeah, maybe …” She shrugs.

They stare each other down for a few moments, the open door behind Dean letting in all the cold autumn air.

“Alright, Dean.” She raises a hand in goodbye. “See you never.”

He doesn’t stick around to watch her walk away.

Dean helps Cas give Mary and Robbie a bath and get them into pajamas, but their conversation runs circles around his head the whole time, giving him a headache.

Izzy’s right. They might not be at the frontlines of the battle anymore, but that hasn’t changed the fact that it’s still going out on there. Dean thought that giving up that life would be the safest option for himself, for his family, but given the last twenty-four hours, he’s not so sure.  What was even the point of trying to live a normal life if their past was just gonna come back to haunt them anyway? A pipe dream, that’s what this life has always been. Something he can never have, because he’s always gonna know what’s out there, and it’s always gonna know about him, and he’s an idiot for ever thinking that if he just ignored monsters long enough, they would go away.

And now, because he fucked up and brought kids into this life with him, they’re gonna have to pay the consequences by never growing up as the normal, innocent kids they deserve to be, and isn’t that just fucking great.

By the time he’s tucking Mary into bed and reading her the next few pages of their book, he can feel the pressure building in his chest, muscles taut, entire body coiled like a spring. As much as having Mary in his sightline is comforting, it’s also stressing him out, and even though he’s loath to leave his kids alone upstairs, he can’t help it. He shoves the book into Cas’ hands and goes downstairs to sit on the couch.

He feels trapped, all this anger and restlessness burning inside him with nowhere to go.  Once he’s tapped his foot against the ground enough to put a dent in it, he finally gives up on trying to sit still. Instead, walks around the house, checking the devil’s traps under the carpets, the sigils subtly carved into the doorframes. By the time Cas comes back down the stairs, he’s got their refill box of table salt in hand, liberally pouring lines onto the windowsills.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Cas asks, voice toneless and tired.

“Saltin’ the windows, what does it look like?”

“You’re just going to have to remove it again in the morning.”

“Why.” He moves onto the next window, movements rough and jerky, trying anything to get this sensation of helplessness out of his body.

“So Mary and Robbie don’t see it?” Dean can hear the frown in Cas' voice.

He grunts. “They’re gonna have to learn about this shit sooner or later, isn’t that right? Why not give ‘em a lesson on how to salt a damn room tomorrow.”

“Dean—”

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” he snaps, still focusing on the task at hand, trying to keep the tremors running through his body to a minimum.

“None of this is what I wanted,” Cas says, a little more loudly.

“Isn’t it?” Dean retorts, slamming the near-empty salt box onto a nearby table. He turns to face Cas, words coming to his mouth unbidden. “You fucking win, Cas, our kids get to learn about all the scary things that go bump in the night after all.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it.” Cas bristles, standing straighter. “That is _never_ what I meant. How could you say that?”

“Well, what am I supposed to think?”

“I wanted them to know about monsters so that they would be prepared should something ever happen, instead of it traumatising them and making them think we deliberately kept secrets from them.”

Dean scoffs. “So if we had done this your way, and they knew about hunting before, then what? They would’ve been safer? That this would’ve had a different ending?”

“That’s not fair. You’re intentionally misinterpreting what I’m saying.”

“No, I hear you loud and clear, Cas,” he says sharply. Somewhere, Dean knows that he isn’t really angry at Cas, that he’s just deflecting all that frustration back at him because he doesn’t have any way to deal with it himself. But all the rage and fear and stress are boiling up and bursting out and there’s nothing he can really do to stop it. Might as well get all this shit out in the open, anyway.

Cas sighs, closing his eyes in exasperation. “Dean, you’re upset, you’re angry. I get it—”

“Clearly you don’t.”

“—but you’re not listening to me. You think you’re more upset about this than I am. You somehow believe I think that this taught them a lesson, or that I’m glad they went through this? You’re wrong. I never wanted _anything_ to happen to them, or us, regardless of whether they know about monsters or not. Neither of us could have predicted that something like this could happen, but it did. And I would be just as livid and terrified should anything like this happen again, but what if it does? All I’m saying is that teaching them the reality of what’s out there can only help.”

“So what does your monster 101 class look like then, Professor?”

Cas narrows his eyes, but decides to humour him. “We already teach them not to get into cars with strangers. Why can’t we also teach them what the charms on their bracelets mean, or to avoid people with unusually-coloured eyes? Simple things.”

“Self-defence, huh?” Dean laughs mirthlessly. “So how long before we’re reading them bedtime stories about demons and ghosts, huh? Or showing them how to fire a rifle?”

“We’re raising them to be _aware_ of the hunting life, not to be a part of it,” Cas defends logically, but Dean can’t see that sort of mentality going anywhere good.

Other kids get to grow up knowing nothing about hunting, and most of them are just fine. Why don’t Dean’s kids get that same privilege? They didn’t ask for any of this. He just wants his kids to be safe, and anything involving hunting has never equalled safe in Dean’s mind. Hell, just the fact that Mary and Robbie were fucking _adopted_ by Dean and Cas put them in danger today. How are they ever supposed to feel safe again? Or _be_ safe?

Of course, it would take tact and reason to respond something like that, and right now Dean has none of that. He just has a chest full of building, biting anger at the world.

So instead he just bites back, nearly yelling at this point, “No one ever _plans_ to raise their kids in that life, Cas, and yet.”

Cas looks livid. “Are you implying I wantour kids to grow up to be hunters?”

“Your words, not mine.”

The second those words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back. Cas recoils in shock, face contorting with hurt momentarily. Dean’s shocked himself, wants to fill the silence with apologies and assurances that he knows that’s not what Cas wants, he was being ridiculous, he never should have said that … but when he opens his mouth, no words come out, his throat still choked with frustration, though most of it’s now directed at himself for putting that expression on Cas' face.

Cas recovers pretty quickly though, and his expression shifts to one of angry resignation, blue eyes fixing him with an icy glare.

“If that’s what you think—” He cuts his shout off, breathing harshly for a moment. “No. I won’t listen to this anymore,” he declares, and before Dean can react, Cas has turned around and stormed off. A second later, Dean hears heavy footsteps stomping up the stairs, and their bedroom door creaking faintly before slamming shut.

The room feels much colder with only him in it, the silence obvious now. Standing there, most of the frustration drains out of him, but his muscles still feel tense with pent-up energy, and now that he’s got no one to scream at—

His vision blurs, and it takes longer than it should for him to realize he’s crying. This should make him stop, but instead it just makes him want to throw something, preferably a knife, at Lamia’s head. Instead, he goes about forcefully putting away all the dishes they left in the drying rack, heedless of the noise he makes. After all, he can’t throw a knife at Lamia’s head, because she’s dead, she can’t hurt them anymore.

So why the fuck does he still feel like something’s wrong?

Fifteen minutes later, while he’s reorganizing the fridge just so his hands can be doing something, he figures it out.

It doesn’t feel like something’s wrong. It feels like something’s broken, irreparably, and Dean doesn’t do well with things he can’t fix. It feels like they’re never going to move past what happened last night, like it’s changed their lives irreversibly.

Mostly, he realizes, he feels like he’s failed. Failed his kids, and Cas, failed at keeping this new life and his old hunting life separate, so much that now it’s shaken all of them permanently, and he can never fix that.

He can’t fix this.

So that’s just … it, then.

Oddly enough, that realization makes him feel better. There’s nothing he can do to change what happened.  It’s what’s going to happen next that he has to worry about.

Residual anger and helplessness melt into fear. But once his rational thought process starts to kick in again, he thinks, what is there really to be afraid of?

That their kids will become hunters, sure. That is a legitimate worry of his, always has been, even way before he _had_ kids. But … the longer he thinks about it, the more he realizes that’s just ... not a great threat? If, God forbid, something were to happen to him or Cas, neither of them would go off the deep end in a mad quest for revenge like his dad did. Even if they were _both_ somehow gone, Sam would step in. Or Charlie, or Jody, or Kevin, or Mrs. Tran. Somehow, they have a network of people who care about Mary and Robbie and would never let anything bad happen to them—as evidenced by the last few days.  

And yes, he’s worried that teaching them about monsters and demons and ghosts will only scare them more. But again, why? Like Cas said, they’re not going to be teaching their kids how to fight these things. Only how to stay away from them and keep themselves safe in the future. His kids are damn strong, and knowing small things about how to protect themselves can give them power that Dean and Cas' protection alone can’t.

Of course he doesn’t _want_ to teach them about these things. He wants them to be young and innocent forever, wants them to be able to go to bed without worrying that the monsters under their bed could be real. They deserve to be happy and carefree for as long as possible.

But they are going to grow up, he knows. Whether it’s mundane things or hunting things, they aren’t going to stay innocent forever, and that’s going to be hard, but he’s going to have to accept that.  

Sooner or later, they would’ve asked questions Dean and Cas couldn’t answer. And lying to their kids might only make things worse. At least this way, they’ll be honest with Mary and Robbie, their kids will know they can trust their parents with anything. And if they trust them, then hopefully they’ll take it to heart when Dean and Cas drill into their heads that hunting is not a world to get involved in.

The longer he stands staring into the fridge, the guiltier he feels, thinking about Cas upstairs. He won’t say his point was completely wrong, but … getting mad at Cas definitely was.

He can’t fix what happened, but he can make sure that moving forward, nothing like this happens again. He can make sure Mary and Robbie get as much happiness out of life as possible, even if that comes at the cost of a few difficult conversations about the reality of the world they live in.  

And for this to work, he needs Cas on his side. Dean alone against the world has never worked. With Cas, though—and maybe a little help from Mary and Robbie, and even Sam and all their friends from time to time—they can accomplish a lot. They stopped the apocalypse, they beat Crowley and Metatron, they defeated the Darkness. And so far, they’ve been pretty successful at having normal-ish domestic lives, raising happy kids and being happy themselves. This is a quite substantial bump in the road, but they’ll have to just roll with it and make the best of it, like they always do.

Dean Winchester is not one to give up, especially not on his family.

He’d figured he was gonna sleep on the couch tonight, but when he tries to lie down on it, he aches for Cas next to him, snoring in his ear, warm arms wrapped around him.

So, over an hour later, he gets up the nerve to follow Cas up the stairs and make this thing okay sooner rather than later.

Dean peeks into Mary’s room, and then Robbie’s, just to make sure they’re safe. To his relief, they are, both curled up with blankets and stuffed animals, small faces relaxed, sleeping the night away. Part of him wants to crawl into bed with both of them, take comfort in their presence, watch over them all night.

But for now, he remembers, closing Mary’s door behind him, there’s someone else who generally watches over him, who he needs to crawl into bed with first.

* * *

Castiel stubbornly makes himself go through the motions of getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth and putting on pajamas before he burrows under the covers.

With monumental strength of will, he restrains himself from shoving his face into the pillow and screaming out his frustration. He does childishly pound his fists into the mattress a few times, and hide his face in his pillow eventually, but only to hide his traitorous tears, not his anger. Bickering with Dean is one thing, but standing on opposite sides of a room and practically screaming at each other is entirely another.

In this moment, he hates being human, hates the overwhelming amount of emotions that swirl around inside him at once. He’s angry, and afraid, and devastated, and hurt, and exhausted. He knows Dean must feel the same, knows this is the reason for his outbursts, but instead of reassuring him, that knowledge just makes him angrier for the moment. Huffing in frustration and defiantly choking back sobs, he rolls onto his side, pulls the blankets more firmly around him, and tries to mentally mute the sounds of Dean bashing pots and pans together downstairs.

Somehow, the adrenaline fades, leaving behind only exhaustion. He doesn’t think he sleeps, only drifts, until the door creaking open pulls Castiel back to consciousness. He only peeks through one eye long enough to check that it’s Dean, shucking his over-shirt and jeans onto the floor, before shutting his eyes tightly again, ignoring him.

A moment later, Dean climbs into bed on his own side, though seems careful to avoid any contact with Castiel.

Castiel listens to Dean’s shaky breathing for a few minutes, unable to fall back asleep, before he finally gives up on pretense. “I thought you were going to sleep on the couch,” he says, nearly a whisper, too tired to put any bite into it.  

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs. “Me too.”

“But?”

“But then I realized I should probably … apologize.”

“Did you? That’s nice,” he deadpans. Castiel doesn’t terribly want to be mad at Dean anymore, but he can’t quite contain his anger.

Eyes still closed, he hears Dean roll over, feels the bed shift under him slightly. Dean’s voice is a little clearer this time, though no louder. “Cas, I’m sorry, okay?”

“For what.” He obstinately wants to hear Dean say it.

“I was mean, I guess,” Dean says. He sighs deeply. “Okay, I was fucking awful, but mostly I was being unfair. I pretended you meant things that I know you didn’t. But I just …” At this point, Castiel opens his eyes. Dean’s gaze back at him imploringly, apologetically. “I need to be angry at something, Cas. Lamia and all those other monsters are dead, all our friends and family made it out alive, and I still feel like I’m about to blow a fuse. I’m sorry I took it out on you, though.”

Castiel breathes slowly for a moment, before finally exhaling deeply. The residual frustration seems to leave his body through the sigh. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

Dean nods. He still doesn’t move any closer.

It takes another few minutes for Castiel to tire of the distance—in more ways than one—between them, and reach out for Dean’s hands. The tension seems to melt away from Dean, and he uses the grip to pull the two of them closer together.

“God, just. This whole thing is so unfair,” Dean mumbles.

“I agree.” Castiel idly traces Dean’s fingers with one of his own.

“I mean, I know _I’m_ cursed or some shit—”

“Dean,” Castiel warns, hating when his husband reverts to this self-hatred to justify circumstances beyond his control.

“—but no way in hell should that bad luck extend to our kids. And yet here we are.” Silence again for a few minutes. Castiel is just beginning to feel the drowsiness start to overcome him when suddenly Dean’s lips are on his fingers, kissing each digit individually between words.  Castiel’s heart aches from the affection.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you. And I’m sorry that I said you wanted Mary and Robbie to be hunters. I know that’s the last thing you want. I’m just scared, Cas.” He raises his head to look at Castiel. “You said it yourself, they look up to us. What if they learn about all this shit and then decide it sounds like a fun thing to do with their lives?”

“That won’t happen, Dean,” he insists. “We’ll only teach them the bare minimum. I don’t want to scare them, but I don’t want to romanticize it either. I will never let our children become hunters, and I know you won’t, either.”

Then, more softly, he tells Dean, “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared, too.”

“I just don’t wanna lose them. I want them to be happy, innocent kids forever,” Dean confesses.

“I know. Dean, you have to know that given the choice, of course I would rather keep our pasts a secret from them. I wish more than anything they could have a childhood like every other kid. Like you deserved to have. But that isn’t our reality. It’s our job to prepare them for the real world, and us being who we are, this is unfortunately going to be a part of that.”

Dean chuckles tiredly, a low and marvelous sound. “You sound like a parenting book,” he teases.

“I’ve yet to find the section on ‘how to delicately introduce your 3- and 5-year olds to the idea that monsters are real,’” Castiel responds, letting a small smile play at his lips.

“We could probably write that book.” Dean hums contemplatively. “We could probably write a lot of books, actually.”

“Our lives are rather unconventional,” Castiel says. He scoots forward, curling closer to Dean, reveling in his warmth. “But save the occasional mishap, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Even in the near-darkness, Castiel can see the fond expression on Dean’s face. It’s probably just exhaustion, but the warmth in just that one barely-there smile makes Castiel’s insides flutter happily, a strange but pleasant human sensation, one he has come to cherish, since it is associated with Dean, and family, and love.

The door creaking open jars them from their moment, Dean and Castiel both turning their attention to the door.

“Papa?” Mary calls quietly, dragging her monkey plushie behind her as she wanders in.

“What is it, Mary?” Castiel asks, immediately sitting up.

“I had a bad dream,” she mumbles sheepishly, looking at the floor. Her voice wobbles and Castiel thinks he can see tears glistening in her eyes, and that is just unacceptable. There has been too much misery in this house today. It’s time to start recovering.

He gets out of bed, lifting her off the floor and into his arms, monkey and all, without another word. She doesn’t seem to be crying anymore, but Castiel wipes the residual tears away from her eyes anyway. Dean helpfully lifts the covers for him to climb back into bed, settling Mary between him and Dean, who reaches out to stroke the mess of hair atop her head.

“It was just a dream, pumpkin,” Dean murmurs. “Everything’s fine.”

“There’s no more monsters, right?” she asks timidly.

Stomach unsettling at her words, Castiel decides they can start being truthful tomorrow. “That’s right, there are no more monsters.”

“And even if there were,” Dean pipes up, “your papa and I would protect you from them.”

Mary sniffles. “Okay.” She shuffles around a bit in Castiel’s grip. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

As much as he doesn’t want to, Castiel is about to make himself object—only in the name of good parenting—when Dean beats him to it. “Of course, baby girl.”

She settles a bit at that, making herself comfortable in Castiel’s arms. Castiel feels more comfortable himself, now. He hadn’t even realized how much not having her in sight was causing him stress.

Dean seems to be suffering from the same problem, because after a minute, he gets out of bed and leaves the room, only to return with Robbie rubbing his eyes sleepily in his arms.

“It’s just daddy, you can go back to sleep, buddy,” Dean whispers into Robbie’s hair, pressing a kiss there before settling them both back on the bed.  

Once they are all settled, and Mary and Robbie’s breathing has evened out between them, Castiel uses his last dregs of energy to reach over his children and take Dean’s hand. “Much better.”

“One more night can’t hurt,” Dean whispers, smiling sleepily. He tangles their fingers together, eyes slipping shut.

“No complaints,” Castiel replies. “I, for one, will sleep much more soundly with them here.”

Dean doesn’t respond. Castiel wonders if he’s already fallen asleep, and is ready to accept that he has when Dean suddenly speaks again, starting Castiel out of his drifting state.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“We’ll figure this out, you know that, right?”

Castiel hums sleepily, but happily. “I do. But it’s nice to hear you say it.”

“I mean it. And I know this is ridiculously tough, but … there’s no one I would rather have at my side through it all than you.”

Castiel can’t fight his grin. “Likewise, Dean.” Another pause. “I love you.”

“I know,” Dean replies cheekily. He squeezes Castiel’s hand, their children still nestled beneath their arms. “Night, Cas.”

“Good night, beloved.”

Despite everything, it is a good night.

Castiel sleeps restfully, uninterrupted until Mary wiggling in his arms wakes him around 7:30. Both she and Robbie are awake almost immediately, but aside from exchanging ‘good morning’s with Castiel, seem content to remain curled up quietly in the nest of blankets and pillows. Dean’s eyes open shortly thereafter, and they gaze at each other a little anxiously, uncharacteristically unsure how to proceed with a free Saturday morning, unsure what the new day will bring them.

Thankfully, Robbie saves them.

“Daddy, is it Saturday?”

Dean purses his lips slightly. “I think so. Why?”

“You said on Saturday, we have pajama day.”

It takes a moment, but when the reference clicks, both Dean and Castiel laugh.

“Yeah, Robbie, it’s pajama day. You can stay in pajamas all day long, how does that sound?” he asks, tickling Robbie as he does to elicit delighted giggles that warm Castiel all the way down to his toes.

“Awesome!” Mary exclaims, bouncing excitedly in Castiel’s arms. Castiel grins at how much she sounds like Dean just there. “Papa, can I go get more of my animals?”

Castiel groans, stretches, and then helps hoist Mary over him and down to the floor. “Of course, bumblebee. Otherwise they could get lonely, and we can’t have that.”

Mary scrambles off happily, returning soon thereafter with her arms full of stuffed animals, throwing them on the bed and letting Castiel help her back into the centre. Dean turns on the TV and quickly tunes to a Disney movie they all like. Robbie settles onto his lap as Mary arranges all her stuffed friends around herself between her parents.

Castiel yawns, smiling at Dean once they are all comfortable. “Good morning.”

“Morning to you,” Dean replies, leaning over Mary for a quick kiss. “You want me to go get coffee?”

“No,” Castiel says, snuggling into bed further. “Just stay here. Coffee can wait.”

“Wow, did you hear that, kiddos?” Dean asks, faking shock. “Your papa just turned down coffee.” Mary actually gasps, turning to look at Cas worriedly. He rolls his eyes pointedly at Dean. “He must really love you two, huh.”

“You _three_ ,” Castiel amends.

Dean grins. “Right back at’cha.” They watch the movie for a while, comfortably curled together, and Castiel thinks that no matter what he’s face in the past, no matter what hardships are still to come, it is all worth it to have Dean and their children in his life. This moment is worth it.

“Want me to get some breakfast?” Dean asks after a while. “Though I guess we need to go grocery shopping again.

“Can we have cereal?” Mary asks.

“Yeah!” agrees Robbie. “The mash-mallow kind?”

Dean makes a face. “I was thinking more like eggs and toast …”

“Please, Dean?” Castiel begs, looking at Dean as earnestly as possibly.

“Ugh, fine,” he says, pretending to be grumpy when the three of them cheer. “But you have to go get it,” he tells Castiel.

“In a bit,” he replies with a dismissive wave.

Cereal, midterms, telling Mary and Robbie about monsters … that can all come later.

Right now, he has his husband and his children safe in their home, watching animated movies on a Saturday morning.

He doesn’t need anything more than this.

 


	16. Epilogue

_"As those who, safe together met alone; For the first time through many anguish'd days; Use other speech than looks."_

ONE WEEK LATER

Castiel stands in his kitchen and watches his kettle boil. His children play quietly in the living room, and his husband sleeps upstairs in their shared bedroom.

Dean often likes to tease him that he’s the epitome of some saying about watched pots never boiling, but Castiel likes the simplicity of it. Kinetic energy is added to the water molecules, raising the temperature of the water until it reaches 100 degrees Celsius, at which point the energy goes about breaking the molecules apart, allowing them to rise in the form of water vapour.

It’s a natural law of the universe, something fixed and dependable. He doesn’t need to think about why, or if he’s made the right choices that morning to have the water react that way. It just happens. It’s dependable. Routine.

Routines exist for stability. They, too, should be as fixed and dependable as the boiling water Castiel pours into his French press. In his millions of years of existence, he has never had what would conventionally be considered a routine, but it is shocking how crucial such a thing has become to him lately. And how frustrating it is not to be able to return to it now.

All week, he has tried to regain that sense of stability, but even when all the motions are the same, it feels as though something fundamental has been altered. If his water in his kettle were to simply not boil one day, theoretically he could continue with his life with little interruption.  But a fundamental principle of the universe would be different, and this would be impossible to ignore.

This is how he feels now, even a (blessedly uneventful) week after their hunt.

The domesticity, the rhythm of everyday life...it all feels so new again, the way it did after he fell for good. On Monday he stumbled through his lesson plan, ended up reading passages from the textbook verbatim. His students have never looked so bored. Tuesday he realized, around one in the afternoon, that he’d put his shirt on inside out and no one had bothered to tell him. Thursday he drove the wrong way down a one way street and nearly scared the living daylights out of Sam, who had popped by that day to check in on them and was thankfully his only passenger in the car.

Disregarding those lapses of attention, though, this has still not been an easy week. Sending Mary and Robbie off to school on Monday morning nearly made him physically ill, and his stomach didn’t settle until he picked them up after school—the following days were only marginally easier. The same has gone for being apart from Dean all day, and pretending to be invested in his students’ midterms. He has forced himself to go through the routine of the week in an attempt to somehow ignore what is fundamentally still broken.

He sighs heavily. Allowing his coffee to steep for a few moments, he turns to peer back at Mary and Robbie, assembling a giant floor puzzle in the living room.

Perhaps his world is not broken, he muses. Just different. All the crucial parts of it—his husband, his children, his friends—remain intact, after all. It took a long time to adapt to being human, to having a job, to having a family to take care of. A hunt that nearly destroyed that family is a far more unpleasant change to his life, but … in the end, just another obstacle to overcome, another alteration to the fundamentals of his world to adapt to. Teaching his children about monsters is not something he particularly wants to do, but will have to.

In small, controlled amounts. For everyone’s sake.

Hopefully, with a little luck, tact, and reminding himself what he still has at the end of the day, a new routine, a new normal, can be reached.

Footsteps coming from the hallway break his reverie.

“Mornin’,” comes Dean’s voice, still drowsy and gravelly, as he walks into the kitchen.

In his own attempt to return to routine, Dean has been back to work every day this week, keeping his promise to work some overtime hours to make up for the previous week. This has been his first chance to sleep in.

Pulled from his thoughts, Castiel returns to pouring his mug of coffee, but makes the mistake of glancing up to smile at his husband. Their eyes meet briefly and Dean’s face flushes pink.

Distracted, Castiel spills coffee over the counter, stinging his hand slightly. Dean wordlessly hands him a dishcloth and turns the sink tap on cold for Castiel to place his hand under. Through it all, their eyes keep searching for each other, almost unintentionally, only to quickly turn away and focus on other things once they’ve been caught staring. Castiel’s cheeks feel equally, oddly as warm as Dean’s appear after a few moments of this.

It’s absurd, Castiel thinks, to be shying and stumbling around each other this way, but the sight of Dean keeps setting off not unpleasant flutters in his stomach this morning.

They’d made love last night. It was … intense. And desperate, and excessive, and everything their first time was but more.

Castiel’s face flushes even hotter—and not from the coffee he’s drinking—when he thinks about how his own needy moans last night rivaled Dean’s own, of how they came with their foreheads pressed together, gasping into each other’s mouths like drowning men gasp for air.

“Good morning,” Castiel replies finally, still staring straight ahead out the window above the sink. He turns the tap off and dries his red, raw hand on the dish towel Dean offered him. The shock of hot water on his skin was more prominent than the pain it leaves behind, it seems.

“Did you, uh, sleep well?” Dean says, a little awkwardly, but with an undertone of something that sounds like smugness. Castiel turns his head to fully meet his husband’s gaze finally, and spies a small smile pulling at the corner of his full lips, a certain mischievous brightness behind his eyes.

“Yes, very well, thank you.” He grins, easily giving into Dean’s ploy. “And you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says with a knowing grin, and with that, the tepid awkwardness from earlier eases away. “You save any of that for me?” he asks, grabbing a mug from the cupboard.

“With all the milk and sugar you put in it, you only need to fill half the mug anyways,” Castiel teases, sliding the coffee press over to him.

“Hey, I only need to do that when you make it in your pretentious French press because everything that comes out of there tastes like chalk.”

“It isn’t my fault you can’t appreciate the finer taste of Italian coffee.”

“Yeah, see that’s another thing. Why the hell would an Italian dude name his coffee maker a French press? False advertising, in my opinion.”

“Daddy?” Mary asks, cutting off their bickering. He got so wrapped up in Dean’s easy, good-natured teasing, he hadn’t heard her come to the kitchen, nor Robbie trailing behind her slightly.  

Dean recovers quickly, kneeling down to pull both children into a hug, holding on a little longer than he would have normally a couple weeks ago. “Hey, munchkins. What’cha up to this morning?”

“We’re making a dinosaur puzzle,” Mary answers. “Wanna help?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he answers, glancing at Castiel. “I just gotta talk to papa about a couple of things first, okay?”

“You promise?”

“Pinky swear,” Dean reassures her, holding out a pinky for her to grip briefly with her own.

She seems to accept that pact, running back to her puzzle. Robbie has been a little more hesitant to leave Dean and Castiel’s side, though, and doesn’t leave so readily.

Dean hoists him into his arms. “Why the long face, kiddo?”

“We left the middle of the puzzle for you ‘cause we wanted you to help with the hard pieces,” Robbie mumbles, eyes downcast.

“Of course I’ll help you with the middle pieces,” Dean says. “Can you wait a couple minutes though while I get some breakfast?”

“I guess …” Robbie replies.

“You guess, huh?” Seeing as his current strategy isn’t very effective, he switches tactics, tugging Robbie higher into his arms and proceeding to tickle his tummy. “How about now?” he teases, grinning widely.

Robbie lets out peals of high-pitched laughter, squirming in Dean’s arms. Castiel laughs as well at the sight. “Daddy, stop!”

“Alright, alright,” Dean concedes, ceasing the attack and lowering Robbie to the ground with one last kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay,” Robbie agrees, still giggling as he runs back to the living room.

Dean stands, exchanging a look with Castiel. Their smiles fade slightly, the same matter on both their minds.

His and Dean’s attempts to explain to their children what happened have largely fallen flat so far. In trying to find the line between telling them enough to make them understand, and not telling them too much so as to frighten them even more, they’ve just left them more confused than before. Some of the questions they’ve asked have been so heart wrenching and so complex he could not find the words to reassure them.

Like the day Robbie asked if all monsters are bad. Castiel tried to just say yes, but then he thought of some of the monsters who have helped them over the years, and all the monstrous things Dean and him have been in the past, and instead sputtered out unhelpfully, “I don’t know.”

Or when one night Dean came back to their room in tears after putting Mary to bed, clutching at Castiel, just wanting to be held. It was over an hour before he could get Dean to explain what upset him. Mary had apparently asked if she was going to start hunting monsters too, just like her dad. Castiel draped himself over Dean’s back, spooning him tightly as Dean relayed, in more detail than he ever had before, the first time his father brought him on a hunt. He’d been nine.

It’s things like that which have been the hardest to deal with, because he cannot rely on muscle memory to get him through those moments. He’s never had to deal with anything like this before. Castiel has never been a human child whose life has been affected so deeply by the supernatural that any true sense of normal has been stripped away forever.

He does, however, know someone who fits that description.

“So, you-know-who still coming around this morning?” Dean asks him.

“Any minute now,” Castiel replies, smirking. “You slept in quite late.”

“Wonder why I was so worn out,” Dean teases, stealing a kiss before going for some cereal.  Castiel alternates between watching him and their children fondly until a loud knocking comes from the front of the house.

Knocks on the door have startled Castiel more than usual this past week, for obvious reasons, but this time he’s fairly certain he knows who’s rapping on their front door. Sure enough, he peeks out the kitchen window again and spots a flick of blonde hair and a leather jacket.

Castiel looks at Dean and rolls his eyes, “She’s _still_ wearing it.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Of course she is.” He then looks down at their children and gives them a reassuring smile. “There’s someone here to see you guys.”

With that, Dean picks up Robbie and holds him close, Mary finds Castiel’s hand reluctantly and holds two of his fingers in her small palm, and they make their way down the hall to the front door. Castiel senses their anticipation, but he is grateful to see his children at ease the moment Dean opens the door to reveal one of their favourite people in the whole world.

“Claire!” they shout excitedly and scramble towards the door. She leans down to meet them halfway and Castiel’s heart aches for a while different reason when she pulls them both close and holds tight.

“Are you here to take us to the roller coasters again?” Robbie asks, his eyes wide with a kind of hopefulness that Castiel hasn’t seen from him in days.

Claire looks at Dean with an eyebrow raised. “Well, daddy-o?”

“Hmm…” He pretends to ponder for a moment, teasing her knowingly. “I guess that depends on how good a hug I get.”

Claire is never one to back down from a challenge and this moment is no different and they hug close for far longer than usual.

She gives Castiel a hug too and they welcome her into their home, offering her coffee and a bit of breakfast. He and Dean know the true reason for her visit, but Mary and Robbie are blissfully happy to just latch onto her legs and tell her stories about school, joking around as if nothing is amiss.

Eventually though, she drags his children to the couches in the living room, cuddling them close with a plate of cookies balanced on her knees. Castiel hovers beside Dean at the doorway, unsure of how much they want to be involved in this conversation.

“So,” Claire says, munching on one of Dean’s peanut butter cookies, “your dads told me something happened to you guys a little while ago. D’you wanna talk about it?”

Robbie looks down at his socked feet, rubbing his toes together. Mary picks at her cookie.

“You know,” Claire clears her throat, getting a little more serious but still keeping a friendly smile on for the kids, “something like that kinda happened to me one time.”

“Really?” Mary frowns, looking up at Claire sadly who brushes a dark curl out of Mary’s eyes.

“Were you scared?” Robbie asks, curling into her side as she wraps an arm around him. Castiel clutches at Dean, his heart aching at the sight of their children still so upset.

“I was.” She nods unashamedly “But I knew, through it all, that my parents were always going to be there to save me, and to make it a little less scary.” Mary and Robbie’s eyes both flick to them repeatedly, never landing for very long. “But when they couldn’t,” Claire clears her throat again, her voice a little strained, “I knew that there were another two people in the world who were always gonna make sure I was safe and they’re standing right there.” Claire points to where they stand by the doorway and the look of adoration he gets from his two—sometimes three—children is too overwhelming.

Castiel pulls away from the threshold, tugging Dean along by the sleeve.

Dean resists. “What’s up?” he asks.

“Let’s give them some space,” Castiel suggests.

Dean doesn’t appear to be particularly happy with this suggestion—they are both still extremely reluctant to leave Mary and Robbie without at least one of them—but eventually nods, putting his coffee back down on the counter and following Castiel down the hallway.  They aren’t going far, Castiel rationalizes, and there are few people he’d trust more to take care of them than Claire.

Castiel had planned to head upstairs, but when they reach the front of the house, Dean goes for the closet, throwing on a jacket. At Castiel’s perplexed look, he says, “Let’s sit outside for a while. Cool?”

Nodding, Castiel grabs a scarf and a jacket, but foregoes gloves with the idea that he’ll simply keep his hands warm by holding Dean’s.

They step out onto their porch, Castiel’s coffee mug still in hand, shutting the door quickly behind them. Dean pulls him to the porch swing around the side of the house, where they take a seat, sitting close together for warmth and comfort. Castiel holds both of Dean’s hands with his free one, keeping the fingers peeking out of Dean’s wrist brace warm with his grip.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, the swing rocking gently, cool wind sending small shivers through his body and pushing Castiel’s hair into further disarray.

“Maybe we should tone down the Halloween decorations this year,” says Dean idly, his breath coming out in hot puffs of vapor.

Castiel hums thoughtfully, struck yet again by how something that used to be so routine, so easy, now has additional layers to it he doesn’t know how to deal with.

“I’m afraid to even ask if they still want to go trick-or-treating this year,” he confesses.

“Are you more worried that they won’t want to, or that they will?” Dean asks. Castiel shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” he replies simply. If they don’t, he won’t be surprised. It will just be another idea for him to accept, that Halloween will be marred for his children the same way it has always been for Sam and Dean, and for any children of a hunting family. If they still do, though, he isn’t sure that will reassure him, either. It will only make him worry he and Dean have been unsuccessful with communicating to them the gravity of what happened.

Another cold, extended silence falls between them. Cas takes a sip of coffee.

“We were always soft on them, y ouknow,” Dean says. “We already worried about shit other parents never did, freaked out when they wanted to read scary stories. We’re not gonna do that any less or more than we would’ve anyways.”

“Now they just know why.”

He sees Dean nod out of the corner of his eye, and takes a gulp of his coffee.

“Maybe knowing that will give them some amount of power that they didn’t have before,” Dean suggests, sounding hopeful.

At that, Castiel has to turn to look him in the eye, and Dean rolls his eyes with a soft laugh, knowing that they both have the same thought running through their heads.

They’ve been having this exact same conversation in reverse on and off for the past five years and now, after everything that’s happened, Dean finally sees the merit in an opinion Castiel is trying vehemently to forget he ever had.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Castiel supposes, it wouldn’t really be them if they weren’t constant contradictions of each other, forever trapped in a pas-de-deux of colossal complexity.

“Hopefully,” Castiel finally agrees.

Dean gives him a sidelong glance. “I know,” he says. “I wish I could say the same for us. Any kind of control over our lives would be awesome right about now.”

“We’re trying, Dean,” Castiel says, as much for his husband as for himself. “But … it’s not easy. Especially when we’re doing everything possible to ensure they move forward after this, at the expense of not moving forward ourselves.”

“I want to,” Dean tells him seriously, looking at Castiel full-on now.

“Me too.” He sighs. “But for now I will just have to resign myself to feeling horribly anxious every time neither of us is with them.”

Dean is quiet for a minute, thoughtful. “We should go on a date,” he suggests suddenly.

Castiel frowns. “That sounds like the opposite of a solution to that problem.”

“I’m serious,” Dean continues, imploringly. A smile is tugging at his lips. “We’re upset about being away from the kids when we’re at work, or running errands, or doing other dull things that feel less important than looking after them. So let’s do something that’s … not dull.”

“We could always plan an outing _with_ Mary and Robbie if entertainment is what you’re suggesting we’re lacking,” Castiel muses aloud.

“No, the point is to get used to time apart. I’m not saying tonight, just … soon. And like you said, we’re focusing all our energy on the kids right now. Not that that’s a bad thing,” Dean clarifies before Castiel can interrupt. “But thinking about other things for a few hours won’t kill us. Spending some time together, just the two of us? Sounds like as good a distraction as any.”

“It has been a long time since we’ve been on an actual date,” Castiel concedes, Dean’s obvious excitement infectious.

“Right? So, wha’d’ya say?" Dean says, flashing him a bright grin. "Wanna go out with me?”

Castiel laughs. “Yes, Dean. I would love to go out with you.”

“Good, because …” Dean clears his throat. “I’m kind of in love with you.”

Castiel’s heart picks up a beat at that. It’s the first time Dean has said those words in an entire week. Castiel didn’t quite realize how much he needed to hear them until warm tears begin rolling down his cheeks, and he buries his face in Dean’s shoulder shamefully.

He hasn’t said them in as many days either.

“I love you, Dean,” he says wetly, rubbing his tear-streaked cheeks into the thick scratchy material of Dean’s jacket. Dean’s head tips down to the side to rest on top of his. Castiel laces their fingers together and holds tight.

“We’re gonna be alright, you know?” Dean says, with such utter conviction that Castiel can do nothing but believe him.

“We’ve been through much together, you and I,” Castiel mumbles in response, unsure if Dean even picks up what the phrase means. He’s pleasantly surprised when Dean tips his head backs and laughs, the most earnestly he has in the last two weeks.

Dean grips his hand in a tight squeeze and their eyes lock, fond and loving.

“I don’t have much faith left in the traditional sense,” Castiel says, a little breathless, “but I have always, and will always have faith in you. I know with absolute certainty that we will be able to make it through this and much more, as long as we do it together.”

Dean kisses him sweetly for a few brief seconds and they cuddle a little closer, holding each other tight in the cold autumn morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!
> 
> Once again, shout out to Cat, our artist; Anna and Claire, our beta readers; the squad, our friends; and all babies everywhere. Thank you, babies, for being so cute. You were a huge inspiration to this fic.
> 
> This entire DCBB was inspired by a short but soul-destroying conversation on twitter, which then progressed to Victoria manipulating me into writing a fic with her that we didn't even think would make it past 20k. I think it's safe to say we hit that mark, at least.
> 
> Anyways, the most important thank you goes to my amazing coauthor, for all the days you've let me chill at your apartment, for putting up with me constantly questioning every character's motives, for helping with all the last-minute rewrites and edits, for tackling the scenes I could not, and generally just for being an amazing friend. I know it was a rough summer for you and a rough fall for me, but hey, we did it!
> 
> ~ Michelle (captainshakespear on tumblr)
> 
> To Michelle, the most supportive, inspiring coauthor I could have ever asked for (read: begged for). Thank you for putting up with my 3am texts about irrelevant plot points, for helping me cope with my writers block and anxiety, and for your calm patience with my seemingly endless stubbornness.
> 
> I could not have done what we did together alone, and certainly not without the better half of the best province in Canada.
> 
> ~ Victoria (deanisthesun on tumblr)
> 
> We sincerely hope you enjoyed the fic! Kudos and comments put smiles on our faces. ♥


End file.
